Cemeteries of London
by DaifukuBun
Summary: Both troubled with past occurrences in their lives, Alfred and Arthur meet under extremely unlikely circumstance. Little do they know, their pasts are closely intertwined. The rain dissipates, as does their time together. Luckily, in a city like theirs, the night always comes, and the downpour is never truly gone. USUK


**Enjoy.**

* * *

Streetlamps signaled green and throes of people set foot on asphalt, umbrellas open and protecting them as they laughed inwardly at the children jumping atop each painted line on the crosswalk. They would squeal in playful voices to each other as their boots trampled muddy seas, filling gaping potholes and running in a filthy river along the curb. The young became wet and chilled in the rain but they didn't seemed to mind, they were obviously used to the never-lifting drizzle and its companion of gray skies, gray everything, happy, bittersweet gray.

There was a thick splashing sound every time the rubber bottoms of his soaked shoes landed on the ground, sinking into the road that had become a stream with the storm. Alfred felt like he was in an old, black and white movie, accentuated with the way everything became gray as if the clouds were the sun and shone the depressing hue upon the surface, bringing with them the occasional browns of buildings or reds of vehicles, or perhaps the spotlights of the city. The rain only aided in the darkness that came with empty dusk, and the tired young man thought that it was ridiculous to be joyful among the lull of city murmurs that became quiet only if you were quiet. City sound blended into itself as the American stepped onto pavement and away from the murky river.

His jet black umbrella shook with every droplet that hit it, a sound that was oddly pleasant and loud enough to hear over the coming nightcrawlers, murmuring and possibly inebriated as they stumbled through mazes of buildings and people. His coat was not warm enough and he was soon regretting leaving his decrepit home and its nonexistent, but dry warmth.

Alfred did not consider himself a night owl, but he felt that the morning was for sleeping. This was probably part of the reason why he couldn't steady a job, but that was beside the point.

The crowd that had crossed the street split and he took the path less traveled by, passing by window shops with fancy trinkets inside, not paying them any mind and only staring ahead at the blinding plethora of lights that were blurry in his water speckled glasses. He didn't bother to wipe the water away, knowing that it would only create trails in place of dapples and damage his vision even more.

Soon buildings grew older in appearance, radiating a somber aura that was different from before, and Alfred was strangely comforted by the fact that there was no happiness in the area. To him, it felt wrong to be happy in gloomy weather.

The buildings were Gothic and majestic, towering over him and gazing at him with colorful stained glass windows. The churches' steeples leered at the ground with heavenly superiority that made one ogle in awe at their height, but all Alfred did was continue walking. His umbrella felt heavy and his hand was numb with cold, but he chose to ignore it in favor of the rolling fields of grass and stone before him. Blades of green danced in the breeze with the leaves of willows and thorns of shrubs, all burying the chiseled stone, each beautiful surface embedded with names, poems, dates. Flowers and toys rested on the muddy ground and became ruined, caked with nature and losing their original honor. Peace was rampant and the only sounds in the cemetery were the cries of rain as they fell and broke against the cold, hard ground. Plant life was quiet if it moved in the wind. Alfred was completely alone, and inside he wished he wasn't, along with the wish that this somber place was not on the way to his destination. It reminded him that he did not have an honorable reason to cry here, rather he found himself pathetic, and was diseased with the urge to weep in the night as alcohol sweetly burned his throat with liquid poison. The cemeteries were too good, he thought. They were for those with loving families still around, for the people with reason in life, with weaknesses and close loved ones buried in the ground. Again, he walked, and he briefly wondered to himself when he had stopped to stare at the dismal scenery of a graveyard.

In the foggy distance he barely registered a faint silhouette, stepping through the spongy grass and weaving around tombstones. Their outline was dark against the false white of their backdrop, and nothing about them was visible apart from their outline. He thought it strange for someone to be wandering a cemetery in the rain, but left it alone. It was not his business, anyway. He was just after a lonely night of drinking with his thoughts as a companion.

Tombstones had become sparse and soon the cemetery was gone from sight, lost in the fog behind him that he could not see unless he turned around. He did turn around, just a flick of his head in the backwards direction, and found only tracings of the graves peeking through the fog. The person in the graveyard was visible too, and they moved sluggishly, with arms folded. Then, their head turned to Alfred, and they stopped and stared. Alfred could almost swear that their eyes were luminescent enough to be seen through the fog and the distance. It reminded him of the shadow creatures he always heard about in ghost stories, the kind that stood next to your bed and watched you while you slept, breathing in the night and its lurking companions.

Shuddering, the American foreigner looked forward once again, moving forward into the fog that didn't seem to end.

He dared another look behind him, a paranoid, tense glance, and saw that the person was no longer in the graveyard, but on the sidewalk, trudging along only a few meters away.

Swallowing, he felt a chill climb down his spine. Then, the footsteps were audible, close. He could hear them through the fog. Don't talk to strangers, his mother always told him, but...

"Excuse me?" a quiet voice mumbled, and Alfred jumped out of his own imaginary fear, turning around quickly to find that the ominous silhouette was in fact just a man, about his age. He was looking at Alfred through a dripping fringe and shivering in only a button-up shirt and a green cardigan. The man shakily gestured to Alfred's umbrella, looking at him with bright green eyes that glowed in the fog.

"Do you mind sharing until I can get to the underground?"

It took the American a while to register that he meant something akin to a subway station and he quickly nodded, stepping back to carry the umbrella over both of their heads. The man nodded gratefully and smiled a bit, pulling the drenched cardigan around his surely frigid body. Thoughts of where the underground was flew over Alfred's head as he kept walking, silently, because this stranger was surely in no mood to talk. The green-eyed man's shivering was audible and Alfred felt bad for him, but he also wondered what he was doing in a cemetery on a rainy day without an umbrella. It wasn't unusual to be out in the rain there, but the downpour was harsh that day, pounding down onto everything it could. The fog in less populated areas did not help, as it muddled vision and would probably be cause for disaster.

They walked for a while, venturing into fog and accompanied by the babbling words of the rain.

"May I ask your name?" the green-eyed man asked, arms folded and shoulders hunched, tense.

Alfred blinked and glanced at him, noticing how pale he was, probably because of the cold. Honestly, it was unhealthy to be out unprotected in such conditions.

"Alfred." he answered, angling the umbrella to shield them from wind and rain.

The man made a humming sound in his throat, seemingly satisfied with the answer. He stayed quiet apart from that.

"Yours?" Alfred asked.

The stranger blinked and looked sidelong at Alfred, eyes strangely wide and glistening with rain.

"Arthur." his voice was steady.

Alfred nodded absently and puffed out his cheeks, thinking it strange that he had not reached his destination yet. He had been walking for quite some time.

There was a tiny intake of breath from Arthur that caused Alfred to look at him again. He found that the Londoner was still looking at him expectantly, with the widest emerald eyes. Little droplets of rain fell from his hair and some were caught in his eyebrows, making the look even more comical with his cold-flushed cheeks and wan complexion.

"What?" Alfred said.

Arthur frowned at that, shaking his head and looking away. He pulled his sleeves over his hands and rubbed at his cheeks with them, then folded his arms again.

Alfred gave him an odd look but otherwise did not question the odd display. He just wanted to get this guy to the underground, then drink away his Friday night.

It wasn't as if he was an alcoholic, it was more so the issue that he felt like there was nothing to do. Of course, he could always call home, perhaps his brother, but that would only result in pricey international service and an angry argument. He wasn't the sort of guy to sit at home and watch TV either, and he had no friends in the area as of yet. It was barely his third day in the rainy city, and he was only there for school, so he didn't bother socializing much.

Soon the fog thinned and outlines of buildings became visible, casting shadows upon deep green grass that stretched back into mausoleums and tombstones.

The pub of Alred's interest came into view and he sighed, slightly relieved to be free of the gloom. Arthur's footfalls were quiet next to him and Alfred had to look to make sure he was still there, and sure enough he was, dripping and wet. It made him wonder.

"What were you doing in the graveyard without an umbrella?"

Perhaps it was rude, but it was the white elephant in the room, the lingering question that Arthur knew would be asked.

Arthur did not spare him a glance as he breathed evenly, strange in the hyperactive chill strumming through his bones.

"I live very near it." he answered.

"Oh."

Paved stairs appeared through the fog, leading into the ground, thrumming with people going up and down the steps.

"This is where I stop." Arthur announced, leaving the shelter of the umbrella and once again dripping with active rain.

Alfred offered the Brit a kind smile, waving as he began to walk away.

"It was nice to meet you." he said politely.

Arthur stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder, ignoring the cursing of pedestrians as they bumped into him. He stood in the mass of moving people, and they weaved around him, cursing and calling him obscene names.

Staring at Alfred's retreating back, he smiled oddly and thought nonsense words, muttering a single phrase.

"Likewise."

* * *

Alfred met him again in the underground.

It was coincidental, really, that they would pick up right where they left off. Alfred was lounging in his seat, one foot placed on his knee with his laptop balanced on that leg. He was typing away a paper, struggling to remember the things he learned at lectures, trying to recall those vital facts. The doors closed with a quiet sliding sound, and soon the car was moving at godspeed, racing through the tunnels with no obstacles in its way. Alfred was only slightly miffed when a person padded in front of him, most likely standing tall to reach a bus handle dangling from the ceiling. There were more seats, why did they have to stand? Right in front of a concentrating student, no less.

"Hullo."

Alfred fixed his glasses and looked up, eyes landing on... someone who looked very familiar. It was the guy he had saved from the rain a few nights ago, but for the life of him, he could not remember his name.

When it wasn't soaking wet, the man's hair was messy, and framed his face nicely. His eyebrows were much more unruly, and he was wearing a beige trench coat that reached his knees, unbuttoned and displaying a tan sweater underneath.

"Hi!" Alfred smiled and acted like he hadn't forgotten the man's name. It was something with an 'A', that much he knew.

Arthur was giving him a small smile as he gripped the hanging handle, eyes falling upon the laptop balancing on Alfred's lap.

"Are you working on something?"

The American nodded and turned the laptop around, displaying his half-written document.

"Yep." he said, before turning it back toward himself and typing a few filler words.

"You're a student?"

Alfred nodded, saving the document, before looking back up at... Arthur! That was his name, Arthur. Like the king. He'd have to remember that.

"Yeah, I just moved here for college."

"What are you studying?"

He shrugged, shutting the laptop. The paper wasn't due until a week from now anyway.

"A bunch of complicated science-y physics-y stuff. I want to be a physician."

"Oh." Arthur's eyes seemed to light up at that, and his smile widened. Alfred gave him a curious look that vanished when the train came to halt. Everyone tilted to the side for a moment with the momentum before settling. A few people left, and a few people came, but Alfred and Arthur stayed.

"Where are you going?" Alfred asked, noticing the way Arthur watched the people through the windows.

The Englishman blinked and turned back to Alfred. He hesitated for a moment, shifting his eyes, before replying.

"Home."

He nodded. "Me too, I just came from a lecture."

Silence between the two passed, but that certainly wasn't the same for the train. Some passengers held idle conversation, and nothing was without the soundless hum of the train, veering in tunnels and traveling its course under the surely bustling city.

"It's good that you're studying medicine." Arthur remarked.

Alfred looked up as he stuffed his laptop into his bag, swinging it around his shoulder so that it rested comfortably on his back. He gave the Brit a questioning look.

Arthur only shook his head and looked on, just like he did a few nights ago. It struck Alfred as odd, but he left it alone, instead noticing the dark rings under Arthur's eyes. He thought his pallid complexion was because of the cold that night, but now he thought otherwise. The dark rings contrasted his skin and framed his eyes with a sickly sort of elegance.

"You look tired." he commented.

Arthur looked at him sidelong, not bothering to turn his head. He blinked his glowing greens and lowered them half-mast.

"I am tired."

* * *

The third time they met was less of a meeting, more of a sighting.

Alfred was seated comfortably in the heated back of a taxi, quiet and watching the mesmerizing way the world moved from the inside of a moving vehicle. It was transfixing, the way clouds raced against each other while fading, the way streetlights turned into sunlight of their own, and even the blurred outlines of people in the dark. The moon was stationary though, and it was full. It gave the city an ethereal glow that was enchanting, but also a bit unsettling.

He blinked when they passed his regular pub but otherwise ignored it, eyes setting sight on the long, open fields of grass. Then, the willows appeared, and soon after the tombstones. The familiar cemetery was, of course, in its usual place, and graves raced past like cars. Epitaphs were indecipherable in the night, especially at the speed Alfred was going, yet a few crosses and statues were clearly visible. It was almost like a haunting contest of display, but that was an unpleasant thought, so he shook it off.

Alfred briefly recalled that Arthur had said he lived near there.

He squinted his eyes, but found that there were no houses or apartments nearby, not a single residential building in sight. Only the willows were taller than the tombstones, that is, until you reached the mausoleums and churches.

Then, he saw him.

Arthur.

He was sitting on a bench, head leaning against the back, with one leg thrown over the other. Alfred put a hand on the glass and leaned closer, squinting to see if he was mistaken. Indeed, Arthur sat there, and it was drizzling outside. It was no raging storm, but it was still enough to become a target for wayward raindrops. Did the Brit find some kind of enjoyment out of sitting in graveyards while getting rained on?

As if he harbored a sixth sense, Arthur's eyes opened, and for a split second, Alfred felt them meet his own. It was like time had slowed down for a second, just a second, and that the only things in the world were toxic green eyes meeting clear blues.

* * *

Their fourth meeting spiraled out of control and grew into a completely new type of thing. It was like a wall of ivy, ascending about a trellis or a wooden fence, uncontrolled but lovely.

He was at the usual pub, nursing a beer with little beads of moisture gathering on the sides of the glass. Oddly enough, he found himself liking this stuff more than the kind they had back home. It was thicker, richer here, and didn't have the thin consistency he was used to. Different, but better.

The American was sat in a booth alone, not at the bar, because the people there were a little too overzealous for his liking. Not that he wasn't exuberant himself, he just didn't need the aid of drink like those people did.

Pillowing his head in his hands, he watched their antics with bored eyes, not bothering to register the jingling of bells at the door. It opened and closed so often that it eventually just blurred into his subconscious. A new person walking in was common occurrence and nothing more. He ignored them and found himself staring at the wall, eyes tracing its designs as he waited for the night to end.

"Is this how you always spend your weekends?"

Alfred blinked and turned his head, meeting honeyed green eyes with golden flecks in the bronze lighting of the pub. Arthur's hair was moving slightly, blown by the overhead fans, and Alfred silently wondered if his was doing the same thing. He registered the question and frowned.

"Not at home, no."

Not bothering to ask, Arthur gave the foreigner a funny look before sliding into the opposite side of the booth.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't really know anyone here, can't exactly do anything with friends. And I don't like to just sit at home either." he attempted to explain, then looked away after realizing how stupid that sounded.

Sure enough, Arthur lifted an impressive eyebrow.

"So you choose to drink? I thought you were studying medicine. Drinking is unhealthy, you know."

Alfred grinned, shrugging his shoulders and involuntarily crinkling the edges of his eyes.

"Everyone has their vice."

"And this is yours?"

He shrugged again, murmuring a 'not really' and watching the craziness of the bar again. Some people had their heads pillowed in their arms, and their sobs were audible from where the two men sat. Others, happy and uncoordinated, sang songs and laughed with rosy cheeks and sweaty foreheads, guffawing and showing their teeth in face-splitting smiles. God knew what they were like sober.

"I should certainly hope it isn't." Arthur murmured as he turned to the bar as well.

Alfred took a sip of his beer, relishing in the liquid fire burn traveling down his throat.

"Got something against drinking?"

Arthur blinked slowly before looking back at Alfred, weaving his fingers together and resting his chin atop them, elbows on the table.

"You could say that."

"Then why are you here?"

"I had nowhere else to go."

"Hypocrite."

"I know." Arthur snickered.

The Brit yawned and stretched his legs under the table, and Alfred, even under the very slight influence of alcohol, noted the fact that Arthur still looked very tired.

Alfred rested his head on the window, not thinking about how dirty it probably was. It was cold and it felt nice on his forehead, that was all he cared about. The sky was purely black and no stars were visible thanks to the city lights, bright and visible from thousands of miles away. The moon held steadfast though, reflected rays bouncing downward and onto the surface. He glanced back at Arthur, finding him resting his head in his hands, eyes closed. The American pretended he didn't notice how nice his eyelashes looked, tickling the very light freckles that dotted his pale cheeks.

Perhaps he was a night owl, and that was why they always seemed to run into each other either at dusk or around midnight. Actually, now that he thought about it, it was rather strange that they would continuously meet like this in such a populated city. Maybe they had similar schedules in the day, but it still struck him as odd.

One of Arthur's eyes opened wide as the other stayed shut, forced to do so by the pressure of his hand. Alfred looked away as soon as he realized he was inadvertently staring, but it did him no good.

"Yes?" Arthur asked, and he looked so smug, like he may as well have been batting his lashes.

"Just wondering why I keep running into you is all." Alfred replied, sheepish, but playing it off like it was nothing. He took the final sip of his beer and set the bottle aside.

Arthur shrugged with indifference.

"Crazy coincidences happen in a city like this."

"What's so special about this city?"

Then, Arthur chuckled, narrowing his eyes and surveying the bustling streets outside with a thoughtful expression. His liquid green eyes seemed to dance in the dim light, and they were highlighted with white little orbs that made it look like he knew something Alfred didn't.

"Oh, you have no idea."

* * *

About 10 bottles of the good stuff later, Arthur stumbled out of the pub, flushing with the embarrassment of dragging a drunkard away from his drink. Of course, Alfred wasn't a drunkard, but with him slurring songs over his shoulder like this, it wouldn't be hard to believe for the common eye.

It was during the second round of some obnoxious country song that he finally snapped.

"Shut up, or I swear to God, I'll dump you in some alley and you'll never see the light of day again!" he shoved the inebriated American aside, who stumbled and leaned against the filthy brick wall of some building.

Arthur didn't mean it, and he felt a little bad after saying it, but he acted like he didn't care. Alfred was concentrating on the floor and becoming increasingly pale, and Arthur began to worry.

"Alfred?"

The man shook his head and held up a hand, but didn't say anything. Arthur tried to speak again, mouth falling open with worried words, but before he could say anything Alfred abruptly faced the wall and began to retch. Out of respect and humility Arthur looked away, facing the street instead. They were lucky it was so late and they were on the outskirts of town, otherwise they would be in a crowd of onlookers that would surely be judging them.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked steadily, testing the phrase after the obvious gagging noises had stopped.

"Yeah," Alfred coughed.

After Alfred had finished being sick, he stumbled back over to Arthur, a bit more coherent than before. "I take it that got some of it out of you?" Arthur commented, walking again but not bothering to help Alfred. He folded his arms in a closed gesture, looking at the taller American sidelong.

"Yeah," Alfred giggled like a child, catching up with Arthur. Without asking, and clearly without noticing that Arthur was done carrying his weight, Alfred slung a heavy arm over Arthur's shoulders. It was a friendly gesture, but to Arthur it just felt heavy. Still, he didn't say anything, nor did he particularly mind.

They walked like that for a while, and despite the strong smell of alcohol wafting off Alfred, Arthur felt nice. It was warm, and the sky was particularly lovely that night. He knew that wasn't the only reason for pleasant feelings, but he wasn't about to tell Alfred that.

The tipsy man had pointed out his apartment building a few steps ago when it became visible. They stopped at a crosswalk to wait for a car to turn, Arthur waving politely at the driver as they did so. Alfred was becoming strenuous against his shoulders and he sighed, relatively glad that they were this close to the man's flat. Then, as they stood in place and the car passed, something, a strange feeling inside him clicked when he caught sight of Alfred's eyes from the side, and when he saw that blue, realization slid into view.

He knew he had seen this boy somewhere before, somewhere important. He knew he had found him.

When the car had passed, Alfred stepped ahead of Arthur, but stopped when he realized the Englishman had stopped moving. He turned, dizzy with the lights but coherent enough. Arthur was looking at him with this strange expression on his face. His fuzzy eyebrows were drawn tightly together, like he was trying his hardest to scowl. Really, though, it didn't look menacing at all. His eyes were still big and green and his freckles sort of took any trace of scariness away from his face, and the crinkles around his mouth made for a nice attempt at a frown.

Alfred opened his mouth slightly to say something, confused at the sudden stop, and Arthur, sneaky man that he was, took that as his opportunity to dart upward and place his lips soundly against Alfred's. The American nearly reeled back in shock, but stopped himself when he realized how nice it felt to be kissed. Arthur's lips were soft, and they were warm, too. Alfred was sure his were all crusty and gross from drinking, and they probably didn't taste that great either, but hey, if some guy he hardly knew was willing to kiss him when his breath smelled like vomit and liquor, he wasn't going to complain. Great morals he had, really.

Neither of the two moved a muscle as they stood on the quiet corner of that street, that is, until Arthur reeled away from Alfred as if he had been burned.

"I'm sorry!"

His face and ears were flushed a deep shade of red, and his eyes were ridiculously wide.

Alfred tried to focus through the influence of alcohol but found it rather hard. He was at least happy that he wasn't seeing double, and that the embarrassed image of Arthur was only slightly blurry.

For a while Arthur floundered, trying to think of words to say. He actually considered just up and leaving, but thought better of it because he didn't want to leave Alfred drunk and in the street. He wasn't far at all from his apartment, but still, the area wasn't exactly welcoming.

"I'm sorry, I, I don't know why I- I know you're drunk, and-"

"I'm not drunk." Alfred slurred, blatantly lying, but slowly crowding closer to Arthur. He seemed to stumble on his own feet though, disproving his own statement, and Arthur would have laughed had Alfred not been getting extremely close to him. The stench of alcohol wafted off him, but strangely it didn't deter Arthur, especially when he crowded so close that Arthur could feel the heat emanating from him in the cold night.

"What are you-"

Before he could finish the question he was silenced by another kiss. They were motionless for another fraction of a second until Alfred pushed forward, and Arthur felt the cool, uninviting brick wall press against his back. The kiss was stimulating, moving, but clumsy, and for a while Arthur did not respond out of shock and stared at the American's closed eyelids in front of him.

He breathed shakily through his nose and pushed back against Alfred, leaving the uncomfortable contact of the brick wall in favor of the inviting warmth before him. Their lips fit together nicely, but on Alfred's part, sloppily. A hesitant but warm hand landed on his arm and he brushed it aside, pressing in even closer and wrapping his chilled, thinly covered arms around Alfred's neck, and in return he felt a gentle pressure wrap around his waist, and hands brushed softly against his sides. The soft, innocent touches tickled and he tightened his arms, bringing Alfred closer in an attempt to stifle a series of giggles.

They broke away for air and Arthur's eyes cracked open, finding the most stunning pair of half-lidded blue irises staring back at him, gazing into him. It was then that Arthur realized he had wanted something at least akin to this since the first time he had laid eyes on the young man, incoherent thoughts be damned. Of course, he had just recently recalled just why any of this was happening, why he had kissed Alfred in the first place. The boy must not have remembered, and that nearly broke Arthur's cold heart then and there, but at least he was able to have something, able to be this close to him when Alfred was completely clueless. Then again, Alfred had to remember. One doesn't just forget something like that. It was funny, the way someone could remember an event of self-importance better than they could remember the other people involved, the people around them. One tended to focus on themselves in any situation, and that was fine. That was just how it was.

Arthur breathed in, just staring at Alfred and his flushed face and naïve eyes. Now that he recalled, now that it was ingrained into his head, a day would not pass that he wouldn't be grateful, that he wouldn't remember the cold, the numb.

There was a silent agreement between them before their lips met again, moving together in tandem as if they were meant to be that way all along. Soon Arthur felt the coolness of the building wall again and he shuddered, involuntarily showing Alfred that he was cold. One of the hands tickling his sides began to move up his spine, tracing warm, comforting patterns there. He gasped inwardly when a slick tongue prodded at his lips, and his 'too far' radar began to go off tenfold, that and the fact that Alfred's breath sort of tasted like old beer. Pulling away, he briefly took the time to notice the thin little string of saliva still connecting their mouths.

Alfred's eyes held a glazed over look and his face was flushed with the influence of the cold, the alcohol, and perhaps their current predicament. They were so close, but Arthur didn't feel anywhere near claustrophobic. He was sure his face was flushed, too, perhaps bright red, and he resisted the temptation to bury the color in Alfred's shoulder.

"No tongue?" Alfred murmured.

"N-no-" Oh, wonderful, now he was stammering.

Alfred, in his inebriated stupor, took that as an invitation to dive into Arthur's neck. He left little butterfly kisses that lingered there, and Arthur began to feel dizzy. Perhaps this was too far, but the incredibly soft touches against his cold, vulnerable skin felt amazing and he didn't want it to stop. The urge to stroke and hold the American's hair rose and he did just that, going weak in the knees as he was rewarded with a trail of kisses up to his jaw, and even passing through to the sensitive skin of his ear. He made a little pleased sound in his throat, loving the way that breath repeatedly huffed against his sensitive skin. However, when Alfred began to nibble at his ear, Arthur's eyes opened again (When had he closed them?), and he came to his senses.

Gently, he pushed Alfred away by his shoulder, losing the grip he had on his soft hair. Alfred's eyes were wide with confusion.

"I just... don't want you to do something you'd regret." Arthur murmured softly, as if telling something unpleasant to an innocent child.

* * *

Alfred didn't wake up with as big of a headache as he thought he would. There was no pounding, blinding migraine, no insane need for coffee, not even the slightest feeling of cotton clogging his senses. He felt fine. On a physical level, anyway.

Heavy rain was beating mercilessly on the windows and drowning all other sounds out, creating a dull, demanding white noise that was surely swept all throughout the city. Drawing open the blinds, he leaned his forehead on the window, knowing that the cold glass would have felt heavenly if he had a headache. There was no pain, though, and he knew it was logical, because he hadn't even been that drunk, despite acting like he was. Hell, he could actually remember everything that happened.

Everything.

With an airy sigh he bumped his head on the glass as a sort of punishment. Then, he finally rolled out of bed, noticing that he was still in his outfit from the day before. He didn't bat an eye as his socked feet shuffled lazily about the soft carpet, floor creaking and no doubt irritating the people below him.

As he set about making a new pot of coffee, he began to whistle a tune to himself, more out of boredom than anything. He was never fond of the days with nothing planned, especially the ones with pouring rain and yammering thoughts. Perhaps, he thought with an open mind, he would come to love the rain in this city.

When the smell and sound of dribbling coffee filled his living space, he stopped whistling.

Strangely, he didn't want to leave home today, because every time he went out he always seemed to encounter Arthur, and that would have just been wonderfully awkward. Of course, it wasn't as if he minded the other man's company, it was just... what was he thinking? Sure, he didn't initiate it, but he certainly did contribute more than he would have if he was sober. And he wasn't that drunk, damn it! A little tipsy, but after puking most of it out he actually regained the majority of his clarity. What kind of person kisses someone just after they hurl, anyway? And why was there any kissing involved in the first place? They had only met four times! Admittedly, he had found the Brit rather cute, if a little weird and enigmatic. He had nice smile too, that is, in the scattered times that he did smile. It wasn't that he was grumpy, it was more of a cynical demeanor, sort of a higher-than-thou attitude. It made him all the cuter, considering he wasn't very intimidating, despite his obvious efforts to be. The green eyes were really pretty, too. A lot of the green eyes he'd seen on other people were washed out, like you had to look close to see the green, to distinguish it apart from blue or hazel. Arthur's, though, were vibrant. In the rain, when he first saw him, he could swear that they glowed.

He quite liked Arthur, even after only four meetings. Perhaps that meant something in retrospect, but whatever it was, it was probably ruined now. At least Arthur had stopped him and nothing had progressed. Surely, that would have been disastrous.

Glancing out the window, he found that the fog had set in once again, only receding when it was cut by falling drops of rain. The ground looked like it was steaming, and the sky looked like it was weeping.

* * *

He had stayed home the rest of that day. Going out into that rain seemed like suicide. It was when the muffled sunlight vanished and made way for impish darkness that the rain stopped. Puddles dotted the streets and the concrete, swimming with city filth and the splashing footsteps of pedestrians. Thanks to the halting of the rain, the fog had become more dense, and its white, transparent color contaminated the air.

Alfred's stomach growled and he once again cursed his own laziness. He had literally no food in his kitchen. Meager rations were expected for that of a college student, even one on his parents' funds, but absolutely nothing to eat was bordering along the lines of ridiculous.

He stepped into his shoes and wrapped a jacket around himself, grabbing his black umbrella off its hook, just in case. Luckily there was a convenience store about a mile from his apartment, though that was still extremely tedious for him.

He clicked off his TV with an overly dramatic sigh and left through the front door, padding down the building stairs and reappearing outside.

The trip there was boring, uneventful, and a little chilly, but there were no signs of Arthur. The trip home was the same, and he wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or not. It was disheartening to be alone in a foreign city. He craved at least some sort of companionship, even if it was now exceedingly awkward. Who was to say he'd see Arthur again, anyway? Four meetings could still be blamed on coincidence.

* * *

He did see Arthur again.

It was on one of his rare trips to central London. He only ever went for stereotypical tourist stuff, not that he was a tourist, but the opportunity of being in the capital of a different country was just too fantastic to pass up.

Weaving through throngs of people found him overlooking the vast waterway of Thames, with boats and ships crossing through and providing light to the foggy night. He found himself not able to concentrate on the shining water, though, when a glimpse of glowing green appeared in his peripheral vision. Blinking, he looked to his right and found Arthur leaning on the same rail, not twenty feet away. The Brit appeared to not notice him, though, instead staring thoughtfully at the flowing water, or perhaps the land on the other side. He was tracing little patterns on the concrete fence, leaning on a black streetlamp that shone brightly through the night.

The American considered approaching him, keeping in mind that their incident had happened at least a week ago. He was almost reluctant to shatter whatever waking dream Arthur was having, though, what with the distant look on his face, and the way he seemed to be murmuring nonsense to himself. At least, to Alfred, the tension had cleared.

Planting a smile firmly on his face, he approached Arthur, despite the other man's dreamlike state.

Before the American had even said anything, Arthur seemed to sense his presence, widened eyes falling upon him and his sheepish smile.

"Hello." he said hesitantly, standing straight.

Alfred just smiled and leaned on the rail next to him, looking out over the river. Arthur relaxed again and let loose a deep breath, folding his arms on the rail and looking deeply into the water.

"Whatcha doing here?" Alfred asked.

"I should ask you the same question."

"Sightseeing."

Arthur quirked an eyebrow.

"You don't seem like the sightseeing type."

Alfred only shrugged and resumed staring at the water. That lasted for a while, and Alfred was becoming increasingly tense due to how awkward it was, and he almost considered leaving. That is, before someone rather harshly bumped into Arthur's back, apparently prompting him to stutter and shout. His yelp was not directed at the stranger, though, but at Alfred, like it had been forced out of him.

"I'm sorry!"

Alfred blinked owlishly and looked at him, finding the green-eyed man all flushed and ruffled. Well, if that wasn't adorable...

"For?"

"For... for, you know!"

"I know?"

"You know!"

Arthur then began to breathe heavily, like he was about to hyperventilate. His eyes were wide and his face was red, brows furrowed nervously.

"Hey, whoa, calm down." Alfred said, placing a gentle hand on Arthur's shoulder that only seemed to make him want to shrink away more.

"It's okay." he added. Really, he was not expecting Arthur to get so worked up...

For a moment the Brit just stared at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. Then, he shrugged Alfred's hand off his shoulder, turning back to the river.

"It is by no means okay." he mumbled, looking deeply into the waters. A bell chimed from somewhere in the city not far from where they were, loud and majestic. It stopped at ten.

Hesitantly, Alfred inched closer to Arthur, noting that once again the Brit was not dressed appropriately for the cold conditions. He only wore a thin, brown sweater over a dress shirt with jeans. The American hoped that some of his warmth would reach him in the close proximity.

Arthur seemed to tense, but didn't say anything. His shoulders were hunched and he was shivering from the cold.

Decision firmly made, Alfred unzipped his jacket and slid it away from his shoulders, trying to hide the fact that he was now shivering in the cold.

He draped it over Arthur's tense shoulders, and, with a built up burst of bravery, kissed Arthur lightly on the cheek. It was barely there, more of a brush than an actual touch, but it sent nervous butterflies fluttering through his stomach, and he hoped Arthur felt them too.

"Why can't it be okay?" he asked, though it was more of a statement, and he was sure that later he would give himself a pat on the back for being so damn suave.

Arthur held the jacket in place with one hand, biting his lip and feeling his face heat up. Normally he wouldn't have let Alfred do such a thing, but he really was cold... of course that was the reason. He unintentionally lifted a hand to rest on his cheek where he could still feel Alfred's kiss, warm and sweet. He knew what Alfred was saying, too. He knew exactly what Alfred was saying.

"I..." he swallowed, holding the blessedly warm jacket tighter around his frigid shoulders. "I suppose it could be."

Silently, he thanked the stars that Alfred didn't think of him as some sort of pervert who went around snogging drunk people. It also seemed that his sentiment was returned, and for that, his thankfulness was plentiful.

"Could it?"

"Yes." he relented, as if that were the nail on the coffin.

Alfred exhaled a shaky breath, seemingly more nervous than he was letting on. He laughed under his breath, a soft, relieved sound that echoed through Arthur's head.

"Great. So, uh..."

"Next Friday?" Arthur suggested.

"Next Friday. I can, um, pick you up? We'll end up walking, but..."

Arthur, for a moment, panicked. He bristled and turned to Alfred with wide eyes.

"No, no. I'll get you. I know where your flat is."

Alfred quirked an eyebrow, but not wanting to destroy the mood, he agreed.

They seemed to stay in that place for a while as the crowd thinned out. Alfred shivered and stayed close to Arthur, hoping by some miracle the Brit's body heat would waft to him. Arthur was staring at the water once again, eyes now calm, if a bit happier than before. His cheeks still held a light, powdery hue of pink, but it was probably from the cold. The breeze ruffled his fringe and he lowered his eyes to half-mast.

Before he realized what he was doing, Alfred softly lifted a hand and rested it on the other man's cheek, turning him so they were face to face and reveling in the way the streetlights glistened off his vibrant eyes. He leaned in and their lips met halfway, motionless under the light of the moon and the city. It was chaste, and sweeter than last time, more pleasant and less off of a whim. Then again, it was thanks to that whim that they were there right then. Slowly he tilted his head just so, deepening the kiss and just becoming a fraction more intimate, rubbing the soft skin of Arthur's cheek with his thumb.

They separated when the bell chimed again, this time ringing continuously until eleven. A boat somewhere in the river started its motor, and Arthur smiled wryly. Their faces were still so close, their noses could touch.

"I appreciate that you didn't taste like old beer and bile this time."

Alfred snorted, then giggled.

"You liked it."

"You're right, I didn't mind." Arthur smiled sweetly, and Alfred's face turned red.

He cleared his throat and moved away, and Arthur pretended he didn't miss the close proximity.

"I have to get going. Lecture tomorrow that I have to go to." Alfred said softly, already backing up to leave.

"Oh, hang on."

Arthur set about removing Alfred's jacket from around his shoulders, frowning as he did so.

Alfred shook his head.  
"Keep it until I see you again."

* * *

Next Friday could not arrive fast enough, Alfred decided.

His days would often be spent sitting through lectures, barely concentrating on the notes he was jotting down. When he didn't have class he wouldn't do much of anything, only the occasional stop at the store or bus ride downtown littered his days, and even then it was uneventful. One day he'd even gone back to the river and gazed into the water, reminiscent to the way Arthur had been. There was nothing interesting, though, nothing except for the occasional current or horn of a boat. He did have to admit that the city lights reflecting off the water's surface looked nice, accompanied by the murmurs of tourists and city-goers. Another day he passed the cemetery, but there was nothing there but the fog, the weeping willows, and the dead.

He tried to tell himself that he wasn't hoping to run into Arthur, but he knew that was false. For a while he felt pathetic, but then, who could blame him? With next to nothing in regards to companionship in the new city, why shouldn't he be excited about meeting his only friend? On a date, no less!

Sometimes, he found himself smiling just thinking about Friday, and, although he had trouble admitting it to himself, about Arthur. He would later berate himself for acting like a swooning schoolgirl, but at those moments he honestly did not care. It was what was expected of him, anyway, considering it was first escapade anywhere close to a romance. He hoped that was what it was, a romance. Because that was partly why he crossed the Atlantic in the first place. Love was a hard thing to find trapped with a family who kept him locked up in a basement, a family that took an entire ocean to get off his back.

There was also the single incident that left him filled with regret, despite nothing being his fault. He had promised himself never to think of it again, never to remember the rain pouring on his back, or the frigid form he felt in his arms.

Umbrellas were handy in a city like this one.

* * *

Finally, _finally_, after what seemed like ages and decades of waiting, Friday arrived. It was a blessedly nice day, too, what with the sun's rays peeking through clouds as if they were shy children. The fog had lifted as well, bringing an eerie clarity to the usually dim area. To Alfred it was nice, refreshing even. The day brought with it a certain crisp, cool air that did not match the sun, but did match his mood. Flighty, nervous, and fidgety.

It occurred to him that they had not organized a time, nor had they exchanged information, probably too caught up in the moment. He brushed it aside, though, certain that it would be a great day, and that nothing would ruin it.

He should have expected that after days of agonizing hours, the day itself would seem to take years as well. Sighing he finished his breakfast, a bowl of sugary cereal, then shed his clothing halfway down the hall, hopping into the shower.

After emerging from the bathroom he realized he had nothing to do, so he just sat on the couch and flipped on the TV, waiting hours for Arthur to arrive.

It was when he had passed out, messed up his hair, and developed a drool-stained chin, that a knock pounded lightly on his door. His eyes cracked open for a moment, and in his tired mind he thought he imagined it, before dozing off once again. A while later there was another knock, slightly louder this time, that caused him to bolt upright with a leftover snore.

"Shit," he muttered, dashing to the bathroom and splashing water over his face, fixing his hair the best he could and wiping away the bubbly drool gathered on his chin. There was another hesitant knock.

"Coming!" he called out, hoping he didn't sound overly stressed or anxiety-ridden.

After sprucing up decently enough, he nearly flew out of the bathroom, tripping over his discarded clothes in the hallway and bumbling face first into the carpet with a solid 'oof'. Little, shameful fabrics tickled his cheeks, and he sighed. Arthur definitely heard that.

As if to confirm his dented pride, there was another quiet knock, and a timid call through the door.

"Are you alright?" Arthur's voice filtered through the cracks in the door like evil, tendrils of shame. Alfred stood and padded hastily to the door, opening it inwards with a pout on his face that quickly vanished once he saw Arthur.

His arms were folded nervously and he had the slightest of flushes on his face, looking at Alfred with bright greens through his fringe, furrowing his massive (but charming) eyebrows. He wore a nice, black T-shirt that fit him nicely, designed with a large and pronounced Union Jack that seemed to distract the eye from the person. Tight jeans adorned his legs and Alfred had to continuously remind himself not to stare, and condemned himself to only looking when Arthur wasn't. The most noticeable thing, however, was the fact that, over his T-shirt, Arthur was wearing Alfred's jacket, far too big on his shoulders and with the sleeves sliding past his hands. In all his life, the American had never faced a stronger urge to gather someone up in a tackle-hug. Ever.

Arthur snorted, laughed, and Alfred was dragged out of dreamland.

"You have carpet burn on your face." he said, smiling wryly, before turning around and heading down the stairs, providing Alfred with the perfect view. Damn if those jeans didn't fit him wonderfully.

* * *

For some reason or another, be it the lack of planning or the convenience, they just ended up at Alfred's usual pub.

The American was fine with this, but he was only a little concerned about the fact that Arthur, who had openly declared his own dislikes for alcohol, had no qualms whatsoever. In fact, he practically led the way there, making a bee-line to the booth from last time. Alfred gave Arthur an odd look as the smaller man slid out of the too-big leather jacket, setting it on the seat beside himself.

"I thought you didn't drink."

Arthur merely shrugged.

"I used to. It's nostalgic, I suppose, so I can tolerate being here."

A waitress sidled up to their table, smiling as she looked between the two. Alfred ordered a beer, as was the usual, and Arthur simply shook his head and waved her off. Her smile changed from pleasant to confused and she left, jotting something down on a notepad as she did so.

Alfred frowned.

"You're not having anything? They have food too, you know."

Arthur huffed and plucked one of the rarely used and worn menus from the table's end, delicately flipping it open and flickering his eyes through it.

"She came before I had a chance to look. It's not as though I'm a regular."

"I guess."

Quiet filtered between the two and Alfred began to feel awkward, simply staring at the table, and occasionally Arthur when he had the chance. To Arthur the lack of conversation was probably comforting, what with him being such a reserved person. Still, Alfred was itching to say something.

Arthur, seeming to sense Alfred's tenseness, glanced up from the menu and offered him a small, wry smile.

"Yes?"

"What?"

"You keep glancing at me."

Alfred sputtered and looked away, pretending to look around the pub as if it was his first time seeing the old place. The general brown color of the place was nothing new to him, and he was forced to look back at Arthur and his pointed gaze. He tried to save himself by offering up a small, hopeful slice of conversation.

"So you used to drink?" he offered, hoping that would suffice as a subject change.

Arthur's small smile disappeared and morphed into a pensive expression, like he was thinking back on something.

"Yes, I did. I could never hold my liquor, and usually woke up in an alley, bruised, and wearing nothing but a small black apron that hardly covered where it needed to."

Alfred laughed at the mental image but also turned a little pink at the thought of the Brit practically nude. He washed the image away, focusing on the humor and banishing his cursed, concealed libido. Arthur smiled as well, a reaction to Alfred's guffaws.

"You're joking." Alfred giggled, thanking the waitress when his beer arrived.

"I wish I was. Those times are nothing compared to the time I found myself alone in some disgusting hotel wearing nothing but a woman's nurse uniform. If I recall correctly, I was also in heels." he seemed to shudder at the memory.

Alfred laughed again, believing Arthur to be completely joking. Of course, he wasn't, but Arthur knew that it was too ridiculous for the American to believe.

"I take it that's why you don't drink anymore?"

Arthur laughed dryly.

"No, actually, that's not the reason."

The green-eyed man snapped his menu shut and set it aside, folding his arms against the table with a sudden and rather serious look adorning his face.

Alfred's humor died down and he frowned, watching the way that Arthur would stare at the table. It made him uncomfortable, and a little on-edge. The light in the Brit's eyes seemed to dim and Alfred became concerned.

"Why don't you?" he prodded, thankfully noticing the way Arthur seemed to snap out of something.

"Oh..." Arthur murmured, nervously fiddling with his fingers.

"There was an accident." was all he said before the waitress returned, interrupting their somber mood and taking Arthur's order. He asked for a cup of tea and again received an odd look from the woman before she trotted away.

"An accident?" Alfred said quietly, leaning forward as if that would make it more secret.

Arthur, in his own strange and mysterious way, just shook his head and smiled, like it was nothing to be bothered with. Alfred felt like there was more to the story, but he left it alone, deigning it too serious of a topic for what was supposed to be a lighthearted outing. Still, it nagged at him in the very back recesses of his mind.

He took the final sip of what he assumed would be his first bottle, about to call for another, before Arthur cleared his throat.

"Are you sure you want to drink much more?"

Alfred blinked, glancing again at the man in front of him and found him with a pleasant, false smile.

"Er... No, I guess not."

He wasn't entirely sure if Arthur was vaguely referring to the incident a few nights before or his own accident. The accident was suspected, though, because personally, he wouldn't mind another drunken kiss. Although he had to admit, they were better sober. He ordered coffee in a subconscious effort to ward off any tipsy feeling he may have gathered from that single bottle of ale, and also delighted in the relieved smile Arthur displayed when he thought no one was looking. The Brit may have been more sensitive to the subject of drinking than he originally realized.

They both visibly jumped when a loud boom of thunder rattled the old building. At that exact second rain began to hit the window, slow at first, but then growing in intensity. The sky was dark and ominous, quite the characteristic of a dramatic and roaring storm.

Their waitress arrived with Alfred's coffee and he quickly loaded it with sugar, watching as the outside terrain was pounded with rain and lightning.

"That's weird, it was nice earlier."

Arthur nodded in agreement, setting his now empty teacup on its petite saucer with a dainty clink. He frowned and tapped the glass for a moment, watching with bleak eyes as large droplets fell onto the ground.

"Nice weather never lasts very long in this city." he murmured with an airy sigh, cupping his empty teacup in his hands.

Alfred sipped his coffee, pleased with the amount of sugar he added to make it bearable. The brown, bitter liquid steamed and gave the area around it a pleasant and unique aroma, one that relaxed the nerves and warmed the negative thoughts.

"Have you lived here your whole life?"

Arthur leaned back against the cushioned booth, watching the rain outside.

"Growing up, yes. Then I, like you, traveled across the Atlantic for school, before coming back here. Why are you here? I'm sure there are better places to study where you're from."

After taking a rather large swig of the piping hot coffee he put the mug down, unknowingly creating the start of a ring-shaped stain. Alfred smiled sheepishly.

"Don't laugh."

"Why would I?" Arthur raised an eyebrow, interest piqued.

"Just don't."

Alfred took a deep breath, then answered.

"Would you believe me if I told you it was to get away from my family?"

Arthur only smiled at that.

Soon, Alfred's coffee was drained and his mug was uselessly put to the side. The pub had mostly cleared out and only their waitress remained, sitting at a booth a few feet away on her phone. A quick glance at his phone revealed that it was nearly midnight. Apparently they had lost track of time.

They came to a silent but slightly reluctant agreement and stood, Alfred putting a tip and the money they owed on the table. For a while they just stood at the door, preparing to go outside and fight the storm. The last thing Alfred saw before they went out into the cold was Arthur bundling himself in the American's jacket, and he smiled before opening the door and stepping outside.

Arthur followed closely behind, and when a cold wind ripped through, sending cascading drops into their faces, he clenched his eyes shut and reached for Alfred's hand, grabbing and holding on tight. Alfred smiled and felt a warmth grow in his tummy that wasn't from the coffee. He squeezed back, and despite the bitter circumstances, they laughed at the situation they were caught in.

"You live by the cemetery, right?" Alfred yelled over the commotion of passing cars and thunder.

Arthur glanced at him with a smile then began to jog through the rain, bundled in Alfred's jacket and pulling the American with him.

Thinking Arthur had not heard him, Alfred prepared to say it again, squeezing Arthur's warm hand in his own. He stopped short when Arthur's hand shifted and he twined their fingers. Alfred then forgot what he was going to ask in the first place, instead deciding to just be happy with wherever the odd man was taking him. He didn't care, as long as he could see him all cute in the big jacket, holding his hand and flushing slightly from the cold.

When Alfred least expected it, Arthur flashed a coy smile over his shoulder before turning a sudden corner. His eyes widened when he found that Arthur had led him into an old, decrepit alley. However, much to his pleasure, the questioning words died on his lips when he was gently pushed back against the brick side of a building.

Soft, eager lips pillowed onto his own, and he shivered out of both pleasure and surprise. The wall pressed into his back as Arthur tightly wrapped his arms around Alfred's shoulders, hungrily inching closer to Alfred until they were nearly chest to chest. Alfred's arms wrapped around Arthur's middle, and occasionally, hesitantly moved down to his hips, holding him where he was.

Arthur pulled away first for air, breathing in the humidity as they were sheltered by the alley. They were both rather low on breath from jogging and they breathed together, panting warm breath into the cold with cool foreheads leaning against each other. Alfred had a rather stupefied grin on his face, and Arthur almost smiled in return, but instead leaned forward and pecked away the smile.

"Stop that. You look like an idiot."

"But I'm happy!" he argued, pouting.

Arthur chuckled, playing with the blonde's hair as his arms were still wrapped around his neck.

"Oh? And why is that?" he questioned with a playful lilt to his voice.

"'Cause I can do this." Alfred muttered, capturing Arthur's willing lips in another kiss.

"Oh, I've wanted to do _this _all night." Arthur murmured into the contact, loving Alfred's warm hands on his hips and keeping him where he was, like he never had to leave.

Words soon became few and far in between, until they vanished all together in favor of sweet warmth and closeness. Arthur's hands moved from Alfred's neck to tangle in his hair, in an effort to pull him in more, to make sure he would never leave. Their lips moved together, desperate but sweet at the same time, sending waves of several wonderful emotions through both of them. Alfred's hands stayed rooted to his hips and Arthur wished he'd move them, do something with them, not only because the touches there almost made him too giddy to concentrate, but also because he wanted more of what Alfred was giving. The hands stayed, though, warm and still but so pleasant.

After a while of this, Arthur began to notice how much Alfred was stumbling, how new to things he seemed. He was, however, thankfully enthusiastic, making up for the places he stumbled on by brushing his thumb across Arthur's side.

Arthur pulled away for just a second to breathe inwardly before diving right back in, tilting his head to the side in an effort to find the angle that was just right, the one that fit them perfectly.

The wind picked up, sending droplets flying down into the alley crevice. Arthur shuddered at the feeling and was thankful for the jacket on his shoulders, warm and comforting, and he thought that despite the rain he had never felt warmer. Hands continuously knotted in Alfred's hair, messing it up and threading away the dampness, the moisture gathered there from the rain. One of those hands drifted back and to the side, accidentally smoothing over the American's funny little cowlick. In the back of his throat, Alfred made a strangled little sound, a gasp that urged Arthur to pull away and gaze at him in question.

Alfred merely swallowed nervously, feeling the heat pool in his cheeks. When Arthur continued to stare at him only centimeters away from his face he just smiled and flipped them so that Arthur was backed against the wall. His back felt chilly now in the cold, but that was forgotten when the hand in his hair brushed against the cowlick again. Arthur grinned when Alfred shuddered and he continued the ministrations, this time purposefully rubbing against the little tuft of hair. He kissed Arthur again in an attempt to get him to stop, because the feather-like touches were driving him mad. Tightening his grip on Arthur's hips, he breathed shakily through his nose before prodding his tongue at Arthur's already partially open mouth.

Arthur froze, stopping his assault on Alfred's cowlick to focus on the task at hand. He felt his heart racing and the nervous tingles settling in his belly, almost causing him to shudder in anticipation as he let Alfred further deepen their kiss. At first, Arthur had felt warm with the close contact and the comforting heat, like one would feel when they were gently warmed by the sun. Now, though, he was actually becoming increasingly and almost unbearably heated, and he was weak in the knees, heart pattering and palpitating just because of the intimacy. He felt his hands leave the taller man's hair in favor of clutching fistfuls of his shirt and jacket, he felt Alfred squeeze him tighter, pull him closer. He felt faint as Alfred's slick tongue slid against his own, and the aching urge to pull away and breathe was rampant, because his lungs burned for air. He didn't want to, though. It was terribly sappy, and if he were to tell Alfred this he might feel a little estranged, but he wanted to stay that way forever. It would be strange, under normal circumstances, to say such a thing. After all, they had met less than ten times and already there they were, in some filthy alley playing what was damn well near tonsil tennis. If these were normal circumstances, Arthur knew that he would not have allowed this to happen. He just couldn't help himself, because after months of wandering through his hometown, he had finally found the kind man who saved him that day.

Alfred pulled away with a wet sound and breathed, gazing at Arthur with glazed over eyes that could only be described as aroused. He licked his lips and leered at the smaller man's thin form pressed against the wall, flushed and breathing hard from the draining kiss. He had to try hard to restrain himself from imagining Arthur sprawled out below him instead of pressed against a grimy wall. The image still came to mind, though, of the petite Englishman whispering his name with that same flushed, overwhelmed, and achingly adorable look on his face, reaching up for him while wearing nothing, or perhaps scantily clad in the jacket that was too big on him. His pants tightened and he gulped audibly, remembering that his hands were still firmly planted on Arthur's hips and he could very well pull him just an inch closer and grind their lower halves together. That sounded like bad idea in the light of the public though, even if the pouring rain pretty much hid their existence from anyone outside the alley, not that there was anyone out there in the first place. So he resisted the temptation and instead captured Arthur's puffed lips in another searing kiss, humming into it, and he was pleased to find that Arthur was definitely reciprocating more this time. His tongue was hotly stroking Alfred's and his hands were gathering handfuls of his jacket until he drifted lower and slid underneath the fabric of both the coat and his shirt, feeling his warm skin underneath. Alfred decided to do the same but less hesitantly, easily gliding a hand under the blessedly thin fabric of his T-shirt and brushing it upwards.

Arthur shivered, hugging the man tighter until they were pressed completely together, and he gasped, finally feeling Alfred's warm arousal press against his own through the fabric of his trousers.

They separated once again and Arthur, still breathing hard, buried his head in Alfred's shoulder.

"Oh, hello..." he sighed, puffing warm breaths against the bare skin of the other man's neck.

Alfred snickered, though it was a sultry, dark laugh instead of a lighthearted one. He took the opportunity to leave little kisses on Arthur's neck like he did a few nights ago, mindlessly pushing Arthur further into the wall in hopes of gaining more friction against his lower regions.

The Brit arched his neck, giving the American more access. Alfred complied, varying from sweet little pecks to hot, open-mouthed kisses.

"Uhm," Arthur half-moaned during a kiss that was in a particularly sensitive area, delighting in the teeth that sunk in, surely leaving a perfectly rosy mark that would stay for a while.

"Alfred," he tried again, but knew that the man probably thought he was just whining and moaning, not trying to get out a coherent word. A hand traveled from his hip, barely brushing the curve of his bottom before landing on the back of his thigh. Alfred lifted, urging him to wrap a leg around his waist and bring them closer yet, but Arthur refused. He shakily sighed, gripping the hand and moving it elsewhere. He would have pulled away all together, but the wall now painfully digging into his back and the American's startling strength kept him in place.

"Al." he tried, hoping that the shortening of his name would get his attention.

"Hm?" Alfred hummed, kissing at the wonderfully soft patch of skin under Arthur's ear.

Arthur began pushing him off, and honestly, he wanted to cry at the loss of contact. He leaned in still, though, breathing against Alfred's ear before whispering.

"Not here."

Alfred blinked owlishly and looked Arthur in the eye. Then, he began to grin, a little smile that sweetly spread its way across his face.

"Where to?"

Arthur smiled, too, but less predatory and more happy. It wasn't the events sure to happen he was glad for, it was just that he was so happy to have found Alfred. A thought occurred to him then. What did Alfred feel? When he looked at the smile spread across the man's face with those red dusted cheeks, and when he took into consideration the motives of the younger man, and even the possibility of a conspiring conscious. He felt his smile morph into one less happy, one more rational. Maybe the rain had acted as a sort of an aphrodisiac, or it could have been the way in which he, himself, had pulled Alfred along, leading him into the alley laced with euphoria and puddles of rainwater.

To him, time seemed to stop, just as the way it always did. His smile melted completely into a concerned frown and he found Alfred's eyes. They were nowhere near as confident as his smile, and this restored Arthur's confidence some, but still, now that the feeling was there, it would lurk. His eyes drifted to a puddle on the ground, stained a pewter gray and rippled. It acted as a sort of a mirror to him and he saw his own expression, concerned, anxious, everything it shouldn't be because the rest of the image was perfect. He thought he looked cowardly, but the wonder he found in the image still refused to fade.

"What are you looking at?" Alfred asked, now concerned, and Arthur turned back to him.

Just like that, a large raindrop fell onto the puddle and the image was shattered, blown away in miniscule waves of murky, polluted water. Arthur rather missed it, but he didn't whine.

"Nothing." he murmured. Now that his thoughts were plaguing him, he could not get it out of his head that Alfred might be just a young man looking for a little action.

"Hey..." Alfred crooned, moving to weave a hand through Arthur's sandy, damp hair. A little pout adorned his face, and Arthur was reminded of a sad puppy, looking at Arthur with begging eyes. He felt a simper begin to form in his face and he reached upward to place a hand over Alfred's, now moved from his hair to his cheek.

"Just... um." he began quietly, feeling his face heat. "I don't- oh, how do I phrase this?"

"You don't what?"

"I don't want to... to just be a little fun. I don't want to be a one night stand."

The hand tenderly caressing his cheek stopped and Arthur winced, softly closing his eyes and preparing for the rejection. He didn't think he'd be able to bear it though, after so much aimless wandering, so he was almost ready to settle as exactly what he didn't want to be.

Alfred let out a breathy little giggle, then cutely bumped his nose against Arthur's.

"No worries. I really, really like you. And I'm a virgin, so that's sorta out of the question."

Arthur's eyes snapped open and Alfred's were right there, all blue with little specks of white.

"I'm sorry?"

"I have yet to be, well, _deflowered_."

Arthur was incredulous.

"How have you not..?"

Alfred whistled, grinning. "Boy, what a compliment."

Arthur wasn't sure what expression his face held exactly, but he was relatively sure it was a mixture of puzzlement, hopefulness, and confusion. He had been so sure...

"And... I wasn't even planning on sex." Alfred said, childish.

At that, Arthur quirked an eyebrow. He blinked twice, feeling droplets of rain slap against his cheeks with the weight of his lashes. The look on Alfred's face was endearing, and the way he smiled shyly, the obvious loss of confidence, made him want to simply cuddle the taller man. But instead, he stayed confused.

"Then just what were you planning on?"

Alfred blushed. He folded his arms, a scarlet blush running through his facial features. He mumbled something unintelligible, pursing his lips and fixing his wet glasses.

"What was that?"

He sighed, long, drawn out, and dramatic, like a child reluctantly agreeing to his mother's commands.

"I was _planning on _going to my place, being all like, 'oops, no lube!', 'cause why would I have lube anyway, and then just... ya know." Then, he made an obscene gesture with his hands, poking his index fingers together in an incredibly immature manner. Arthur looked at Alfred with a confused expression, then glanced at his fingers and the way they rubbed together and- _oh_.

Arthur laughed, a full-on guffaw that shook through his entire body. He wasn't laughing at Alfred, though, and, if Alfred was a virgin, which he apparently was, then actual penetrative sex would have been a terrible idea anyway.

"But..." Alfred murmured, and Arthur looked up with tears of laughter in his eyes. He snorted and chortled, then finally calmed, smiling humorously at Alfred.

"But," he said again, "you still aren't a one night stand, really."

Arthur smiled, feeling a warm tingle settle over his body. He tensed up in happiness, feeling his eyes crinkle.

Alfred then cleared his throat, shifting on his feet.

"Uh..." he said, voice cracking slightly. "Can we still go to my place, though?"

Then Arthur noticed the way he was clenching his legs together and he snorted, reaching for Alfred's hand.

"You lead the way."

* * *

Arthur found that he liked the temperature and, well, general dryness much more than the dank, moist alley. His miniscule shivers had disappeared, not that he had noticed before, but he found that he was able to focus much more like this. It was intoxicating, really, the sugar-laced way in which they kissed. He felt light-headed and was beginning to grow hot, faint even. An exhale wracked his body and his lips left Alfred's to breathe. He began to remove the jacket, because the heat was beginning to become stifling, but Alfred quickly accepted the task on his own and softly brushed his hands under the fabric, pushing it aside as it landed on the floor with a dull and almost soundless thump.

First a cute little chaste kiss, then they were at it again, and Arthur thought that his lips might just bruise because of Alfred's bursting enthusiasm. He placed a hand on the small of Arthur's back that had previously been busy threading through his hair. Pulling Arthur with him, he sat on the couch, and Arthur easily straddled his thighs with ease. Alfred's mouth left his and he immediately began to bite harshly at the smooth skin of the smaller man's neck, attacking it and marking it, then soothing the marks with little kisses that tickled more than anything. Arthur shivered when he felt a cold hand sneak under his shirt, up his sides, tracing his spine, and he shivered when it came in contact with his front, splaying up to his chest. He hummed shakily before reaching down to grip the thin fabric of his shirt before pulling it over his head, dropping it listlessly on the floor along with Alfred's jacket. The kisses and bites trailed from his throat to his collarbone, and he sighed in pleasure.

Alfred continued his ministrations, attacking the pale, thin body before him. With a bit of hesitance, he reached around and squeezed his backside, still tightly concealed in those wonderful jeans that, Alfred realized, were probably making this a bit more uncomfortable for Arthur than it needed to be. Arthur gasped and Alfred kneaded his hands against the rough surface of the jeans, eliciting wonderful sounds from the man in his lap. He kissed him on the cheek before shifting so that his back was now against the arm of the couch, pulling Arthur closer now that he could, pulling him so that they were once again flush together, Arthur's inner thighs on either side of Alfred's hips. Arthur gasped and shuddered, burying his face in Alfred's shoulder as the hands pressed harder, simultaneously rubbing their groins together. He felt breath glide across his bare skin, hot and smooth as his jeans grew even tighter than they were before. With a solid gulp of air he ground downward, moaning breathlessly and jerking his hips in little movements, marveling at the wonderful friction they managed to create.

For a while Alfred did nothing but helplessly pant as Arthur got situated, attempting to set a decent rhythm that was only marginally better from unrestrained and erratic grinding through their trousers. He would have been self-conscious if it wasn't for Arthur muffling his sounds in Alfred's shoulder, moaning and mewling into his shirt. One of his hands migrated from Arthur's backside to his thigh, groping and adjusting to get a better angle. It worked, and soon the smaller man was unable to contain his sounds, crying out and lifting his head only to get a face full of Alfred's hair. The sound only heightened Alfred's arousal and he whined at his inability to do anything. Not that it didn't feel amazing to have Arthur doing this.

With a shaky sigh and a gathering of his barely there coherence, Arthur began sliding a hand downward, creeping through the warm space in between their bodies that was almost nonexistent. He slowed the movement of his hips, making them less erratic and more powerful, more effective, and even began moving in circles before he reached his destination.

Between heavy breaths, Alfred managed a coherent sentence, feeling Arthur's hand sliding down his belly and to his waistline.

"Wh-what are you, _ngh_, doing?"

Arthur distracted him with his mouth, kissing him with meaning. His fingers experimented with the idea of dipping below his peeking boxers but decided against it, stroking at the skin just above that area and under his shirt. With newly found confidence he felt under the fabric of Alfred's jeans, tracing down, down, before cupping him through the thin, damp fabric of his boxers.

Alfred immediately broke the kiss and let out a string of silent sounds. Arthur's hand squeezed, feeling him up slowly, sensually, and adding an ungodly amount of pressure.

That was all it took, too, the feeling of someone other than himself touching him boldly there. He came with a cry of Arthur's name and rode it out for a while, before panting and settling.

Arthur had stopped moving and was simply sat on his lap still, straddling him at an admittedly awkward angle. This confused Alfred, because he could still clearly feel Arthur's arousal pressing against him.

"Arthur?" he questioned, winded and tired.

"Hmm?"

But by the time Arthur had even replicated a response, Alfred was passed out against him, tired from his release. His world seemed to drift into a peaceful black, lulled to sleep by Arthur's breathing and the peeking rays of the sun, shining through the window. He had pulled an all nighter, after all. It was a wonder he had stayed awake as long as he had. Just before his consciousness was fully lost, he felt warm arms encircle him, one stroking through his hair with a sigh.

* * *

Alfred found himself cracking open his eyes at about 4 PM. Clarity faded in and out, as well as the afternoon beams of the sun, bouncing off his crooked glasses and turning everything an unpleasant white. For once, it seemed, the sky was free of clouds.

Fixing his glasses he sat up, yawning, only to remember why he was waking up at 4 PM in the first place. He scanned the small living space, picking up his discarded jacket off the floor. Standing with a crack of his legs and a scratch of his back, he threw the garment over the back of the couch with disinterest. When he walked he grimaced, remembering the wet, sticky feeling still trapped in his boxers. It was now cold and unpleasant, and more than anything he felt like he needed a shower. Still, he frowned as he paced the apartment, checking in all the rooms with a puzzled look. It would seem that Arthur had left. Odd, considering the timely circumstances.

"Hello?" he called, just to make sure.

As expected there was no answer and his frown deepened. He reasoned with himself though, knowing that there must have been a decent reason. Maybe Arthur worked, which, when he thought about it, wouldn't be very surprising. Or perhaps he had to go home for some reason. Alfred didn't know, and he figured he'd find out eventually. Then, a thought struck him. They had not shared any contact info whatsoever, and the odds of seeing Arthur again were simply up to forces bigger than them. With a sigh he pulled off his shirt and padded to the bathroom, ready to stop feeling all grimy and gross.

The thoughts plagued him, though, because he found that he really did want to see Arthur again. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more the desire grew. Water filtered out of the shower head, already steaming and warming the room. The notion that thoughts grew rampant in the shower was undoubtedly true, and he chewed on his lower lip, resting his head on the shower wall. He could only hope, or perhaps offer another pricey visit to downtown.

* * *

The sunshine didn't last long. At about 6, an overcast spread, casting shadows upon the old city. Then, at around 7, they began to rain playful little dewdrops downward, and half an hour later those little dewdrops grew into full-grown rain. With disinterest, Alfred remarked to himself that it was the gloomiest Saturday ever, and he actually considered investing in a ticket home just to see the sun again.

He was sprawled out on the couch with his laptop warming his midsection, producing a high-pitched hum that lilted through the walls. Balanced professionally and dangerously above his head was a large mug of coffee, peppered with sugar to make it bearable. His fingers typed away and his chin was unhealthily resting upon his collarbone, but with the deadline the day after tomorrow, he didn't care. The paper was tedious to say in the least, but at least he already knew the material. It was just a matter of length and time now, and it was much better than the horrific hours he spent studying, often into the wee hours of the morning, only to attend an agonizing lecture twenty minutes later.

He had spent the whole day on the couch with the television murmuring boring programs in the background. Rather winded from the day before, he didn't see the need to move much, and he had become oddly fond of the couch after the night before. He yawned and tipped his head back, expertly catching the balancing mug before it would tip and fall.

The words and phrases came easy to him, and that was because he may as well have been a professor himself. Many would take one look at him and consider him dim witted, probably because they would catch him tripping over his own feet, but he was actually quite adept in the fields of science, and he knew how the body worked. Specifically, how to save a body that wasn't working properly. It was strange, but he honestly considered himself quite the hero. Years of personal, hushed medical training polished him into a skilled hero, and an unlikely one at that.

He was rather proud, in a bittersweet, depressing way of a certain incident that happened not many years ago. Sometimes he would think of this as a weird sort of pick-me-up, and he would imagine himself, once again, sat in a jagged plastic bus seat as the world whirred by at what seemed like 1,000 miles an hour. He had balanced his head on the back, the little bumps of the road lulling him into lonely slumber. The bus driver was the only other person on board, and it was almost completely peaceful, save for the times that the burly man would cough haggardly, or gag. He thought it strange but dismissed it as a stomach upset. It was when he noticed the man dig under his seat and glance back at him that he became suspicious. Quickly he shut his eyes, feigning sleep and gathering curiosity.

The driver mumbled something unintelligible and continued to rustle around under the seat. Alfred opened his eyes again when he looked away and narrowed them when the large man pulled out a flask of what was presumably alcohol. The moment he sniffed the air his suspicions were confirmed and with horror he watched as the guy took a giant swig of the stuff, then deposited it back under the seat with a hiccup. That explained the gags and gurgles then, and with building disgust he sat up. It was one thing to drive drunk, but to drive a bus, possibly full of people while under the influence, that was unacceptable.

"Hey." he said loud enough to catch the driver's attention over the revving motor.

With a slurred noise he jerked backward, turning with wide eyes to Alfred's judgmental glare. One of his eyes was more open than the other and his cheeks were flushed, and that just made the American even more angry.

But before Alfred could even word a single insult, he caught sight of something moving on the dark streets, someone steadily walking, crossing the street, right as the driver's attention was turned from it.

"Watch the road!" he shouted, dismissing the previous problems quickly, but it was too late. The driver quickly swerved but the impact was felt and it shook the entire vehicle, shaking the plastic metal and making a shocked silence. The bus had stopped on the lonely, blackened road and for a moment they both just sat, mortified.

Then, as if a pin had dropped, Alfred darted for the door and kicked it until it was open because the driver was too damn stupid to pull the lever and open it for him. He burst out into the night, running on the asphalt until he reached the front of the bus. Panic settled in when he saw the little droplets of red gathered on the front of the vehicle, small, but there, and menacing as they oozed downward. He prepared for the worst and hurriedly looked down, finding a crumpled, broken person uselessly limp on the road. They were on their side and a small puddle of scarlet liquid pooled at their front, but their back his the wound.

Immediately he dug his cell phone out of his back pocket, dialing 911 and frantically spilling the details to the operator on the other end.

He hung up once the call was finished in favor of trying to help the poor victim.

Kneeling down, he very, very gently touched their shoulder, and was alarmed when they coughed, and soon mortified when that sprayed more blood into the already growing puddle. That meant that they were alive, but that also could have meant an assortment of bad things. Leaning over, he found a young man with wide, dull eyes and a terrible, angry gash ripping across his entire midsection, as well as a little trail of blood escaping from his lips. The eyes turned to him with worrying slowness, and the man continued to shiver, probably frozen in his own skin.

Alfred quickly dug into his bag, looking for anything he could find, and becoming relieved when he found an extra T-shirt meant for god knows what. Moving the cloth to the visible wound, he applied pressure, in hopes of appeasing the bleeding. Of course, he knew it wouldn't do much good after seeing that cough.

"Y-you're gonna be fine..." he lied, but comforted, sympathetic as the man's eyes shut in terrible pain.

They opened again, then, and stared straight into him. His irises were vapid and dull, and they reflected nothing. The man coughed again and more blood streamed down his face.

After the longest time, the bleeding did not cease, and the man began to close his eyes. Alfred was crying now, having never experienced something so horrific. He wondered where the hell help was, and a loud sob escaped him. Hysterical, he began to apologize, as if it was his fault. Maybe he could have noticed the odd behavior of the driver sooner, or maybe he shouldn't have noticed in the first place. Perhaps, then, this could have been avoided.

What seemed like hours passed and the limp man's eyes were at half mast, but he was still breathing, deeply and irregularly. He rasped, too, and it was incredibly worrying.

Minutes later he stopped shivering and his eyes were almost completely shut.

"Stay awake." Alfred admonished, gripping his hand and registering how cold it was. "Help is on the way."

The man's eyes blinked open once again and a shudder wracked his body. His hand twitched in Alfred's, and he roved his eyes over the young boy's again, blinking tiredly.

Soon the blessed sound of tires flying over gravel made itself known, along with the blaring screech of sirens, bellowing like banshees and flashing red. The lights lit up the entire highway, and the glints shined off the man's eyes, glowing. Before the medics were able to arrive at their side, a shocking green was displayed in the dark through the dying man's iris, glowing thanks to the light.

Presently, Alfred sat up abruptly, dropping his laptop onto the ground and hearing it clatter. The balanced coffee fell as well, mug landing softly onto the carpet and spilling brown, bitter liquid into the fibers. He blinked owlishly, confused at his own revelation.

Those were Arthur's eyes. Or at least, they were strikingly similar. In fact, he was almost certain. They were eyes one could not dismiss, you couldn't place them on another person, because they held a dream-like glow.

Arthur said there was an accident involving alcohol, and that was why he didn't drink.

Alfred made the connections in his head and, before he could even comprehend them, there was a knock on his door.

The sudden sound made him jump and he fell off the couch, landing on his laptop and faceplanting into a spill of lukewarm coffee. He cursed and stood, grateful to find that his laptop was surprisingly unharmed.

Running to the door, he braced a hand over the knob, furrowing his eyebrows.

No, those thoughts were preposterous. That man had died. There was no way in hell that was Arthur, no way in hell.

Without much thought he opened the door, and wasn't surprised to find Arthur on the other side. What did surprise him, though, was his shivering, soaking wet condition. Water dropped from his hair down onto his face, and his breath came in pants.

Arthur didn't say anything, and Alfred didn't even think before ushering him inside and sitting him down on the couch. He ran to the bathroom and fetched a towel, tossing it to Arthur who caught it and instantly covered himself with it.

"It's pouring out there." Alfred heard him murmur. He grabbed another towel and sat next to Arthur, giving himself the task of messily drying Arthur's hair with it.

"Thank you." Arthur said as his hair was roughly tossed around by the warm fabric. He brought the towel closer to himself, sighing as it, too, became damp with the scent of rain. Alfred clicked his tongue.

"What were you doing out there?" he said absently, finding his thoughts still plaguing him as he brushed the rainwater away. The memories and him were the same, and he found that Arthur's pale, sickly complexion made a bit more sense. Still, he wouldn't allow himself to think like that. The fact still remained that the guy who got hit by the bus had died three days later. It took a measly seventy-two hours to finish him off, because there wasn't much they could do for such severe internal bleeding.

Arthur messed with his hands, clasped gently in his lap.

"I was at the river, and then I ran here."

Satisfied with his work he pulled the towel away. Arthur's hair stood up at odd angles now, but that wasn't any different from its normal state. He was still shivering a bit, and he pulled the towel closer, sighing.

"That's such a long way!" Alfred realized. He frowned at Arthur, who only gazed at him with indifference on the subject. "Why didn't you call a taxi or something?"

"Because I didn't have any money on me."

"Well, why did you run all the way here?"

"Does it matter?" Arthur breathed with a hoarse, tired tone. He looked simply miserable, and his skin was stunningly pallid thanks to the cold. Droplets still speckled his skin, and he looked like he just wanted to curl in on himself.

It was when the smaller man let out a little sniffle and droplets that weren't rain began to pour from his eyes that Alfred grew sympathetic instead of reproachful. He wrapped his arms around thin shoulders and felt Arthur shivering. Rainwater soaked into his shirt but he didn't push him away, not even when salty tears fell onto his shoulder. Arthur shook, no doubt with exertion and stress.

"You okay?" he asked stupidly, knowing that the answer would be negative. He still found it customary to ask, however.

Arthur did not respond. He let the droplets fall from his eyes and he let himself shake. He let Alfred hold him, too, and he simply could not express how much he appreciated it. Fear had flowed like blood through his veins all throughout the day, fear that he would not be able to come back. There was no way he could explain it to Alfred either, the young man would never believe him, not in a million years.

"I..." he choked out, but that was all he could manage. _I love you, _he thought.

Alfred would never believe that, either. It was too soon. Far, far too soon from his point of view. Little did he know, Arthur had been waiting for years. Soulless, listless years, spent wandering the cemeteries, the river, and the oceans, with their vast cities of the dead. The mere thought of not being able to return was unbearable, and when he found himself with Alfred again, he had been so relieved.

"I..." he said again with more vitality, "I'm tired."

Alfred perked up and, carefully, he pulled away from Arthur.

"Do you want to sleep?"

Arthur eyed the storm outside with exhausted, drooping eyes.

"That does sound nice." he managed small, watery smile, and Alfred returned it. Then, the American began to scratch the back of his head, grinning sweetly.

"I was, uh..."

"Yes?"

"I was just about to go to bed too, so..."

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Your point?"

"Um... I only have... a small, one-person bed?" he finished with a heightened, questioning tone, as if he were awaiting a scolding. Arthur only sighed.

"Really, I don't see how that's a problem."

"It's not!" Alfred defended. "Not unless you think it is?" he worded the statement like a question again, and Arthur found it more amusing than anything.

"Quite the contrary." he said, smiling and sniffling. "It will be warmer that way. But I really would like to sleep, if you don't mind."

Despite himself, Alfred felt like smiling. Neither of them had even come close to mentioning the perfectly comfortable and usable couch that they were sitting on right at that moment. He really did want to just sleep though, and his laptop, filled with assignments and study material, was all but abandoned under his coffee table.

He pretended Arthur's shivering didn't remind him of the memory, because he felt like there were more important things to attend to.

* * *

"Are you gonna tell me what that was all about?" Alfred asked absentmindedly, sifting through his basket of clean clothes for something dry. Sleep was nice, yes, but it was pretty impossible with soaking wet clothes.

It felt as though he could physically feel Arthur stiffen, despite being a distance away from each other.

"Uh." Arthur stammered. He nervously crossed his legs, folding his hands together. He found himself stricken with the urge to give Alfred the whole truth, he was utterly tempted to just confess the entire thing. Still, he didn't. There wasn't exactly a universal rule condemning him not to, he just felt like Alfred wouldn't believe him, like the young man would laugh, or perhaps become angry. He couldn't blame him, though, if that were to happen. Alfred was perfectly justified to do so. That thought struck him rather deep and he found himself riddled with hiccups, much like a child after a tantrum.

Seeming to forget his question, Alfred emerged from the basket a little too dramatically, sending stray socks fluttering away.

"How do you feel about plaid?" he asked.

"Anything is fine." Arthur answered, plucking at his drenched sleeves. He sighed silently, accusing himself of over thinking everything. Running in the rain was not good for one's emotions, he decided. Why had he done that again...? Oh yes, because he wanted to make sure he could still see Alfred. Arthur felt his eyelids grow heavy, and he yawned.

Suddenly a pile of clothing landed on his lap, and he startled out of his yawn, finding a set of hideous, colorful, flannel plaid pajamas resting on his lap. They reminded him of his brother's old plaid kilt, and he inwardly cringed, but didn't say anything on the matter.

"You can get changed and get in bed. I have to go shower."

Trying to seem casual, Alfred leaned down and pressed a sweet kiss to Arthur's forehead. As he left the room, a red blush became apparent on his face with the faintest of smiles. It showed how nervous he really was, and when the door shut behind him, Arthur smiled.

Hastily, he took off his wet clothes on the dry, fresh pajamas. He haphazardly shoved them into a pile in the corner of the room, feeling imposing but helpless as he did so. Then, he ventured to Alfred's bed, finding it small and almost fitting for a child. With a contradictory frown he realized that it actually fit the bumbling American to have something like this. Sighing for the umpteenth time that night, he pulled back the covers and squeezed into the bed, finding himself with his nose nearly pressed against the wall in an attempt to make room for Alfred when he arrived. He leaned upward to flip the switch on the lamp, bathing the room in a blessed darkness that calmed Arthur's nerves. It wasn't the sort of darkness he cowered from at a young age. It was the sort of comforting dark than lulled one to sleep when company was nearby, the kind that could be accompanied by the settling of the house and warmth of duvets. A small amount of light still filtered in from under the door and it served as a sort of nightlight. Once again his eyes closed out of sleepiness, and his breathing steadied, becoming rhythmic instead of erratic. He found himself nuzzling into Alfred's pillow, and his consciousness began to fade, something he hadn't felt in a long, long while.

After a while of near silence, Arthur's happy place was disturbed by the bed dipping from Alfred's weight. He opened his eyes but did not move a muscle, and soon the blankets became incredibly warm, thanks to close proximity. Alfred settled with his back against Arthur's, as if they weren't close at all and were only in the same bed because they had to be. Arthur wanted to laugh breathlessly and just turn around and cuddle him, but he didn't, because he noticed how tense Alfred was.

"Are you awake?" Alfred said quietly, shifting slightly. His voice had an odd tone to it, and it worried Arthur.

"Yes." he whispered.

They still kept quiet, as if they were trying to protect the silence of the night.

"Uhm." Alfred mumbled, shifting to lie on his back. "I have a question."

Arthur turned to face him, nearly lying on top of him in the process. He was actually becoming rather fond of the tiny bed, using it as an excuse to snuggle up to the American. With a little smile, he stared at Alfred in question.

"Were you in America, about two years ago?" he asked, then sighed. "No, never mind, of course you weren't, that was-"

"Yes, I was."

Alfred blinked. Slowly he found Arthur's eyes, peering up at him through the darkness. His face was half hidden in the folds of the plaid pajamas, but his small, strange little smile was still visible.

"You were?"

"I was." Arthur shut his eyes and sighed, wrapping an arm around Alfred and resting his head on his chest. He inhaled, then exhaled, long and drawn out. "Much like you are here, I was there for school, and to get away from my cruel family."

Alfred told himself that that meant nothing. Arthur must have finished school and went back home. It must have been some other blonde-haired green-eyed guy on the street that night. There was no other solution, he was just being ridiculous. That guy died three days later. He never did catch his name, too caught up in his own shock to attend a funeral, or even go visit him in the hospital. The man had been holed up in there, unconscious, for a whole 72 hours with his insides bleeding to death. While Arthur was there, warm, perfectly alive if a little shaken, using him as a snuggle buddy. There was just no way.

With a huff, Alfred turned on his left side, facing Arthur and hugging him.

Arthur, though he didn't display it, was about to have a mental breakdown. What had that been about? Had Alfred remembered? Oh, of course he remembered, but had he remembered him? His hands shook and his hair stood on end. He felt scared tingles erupt in his belly, and he wished they would go away so he could speak. With his heart palpitating and trapping his voice, he did the only thing he could really do to express himself. Slithering his arms around the American's neck, he peered into his blue eyes before kissing him, slow and languid.

When they separated, he nuzzled into the warmth of Alfred's neck, breathing evenly and finding his voice. He shut his eyes tiredly, reveling in the feeling of hands tracing down his spine.

"Al?" he mumbled, once again being overtaken by sleep.

"Hmm?" Alfred was smiling, happy with the closeness and the heat.

"You know..." Arthur said, trying to find his own words. He sighed tiredly. "You know," he said again, "this city is haunted."

Alfred slowed his actions but did not move. He simply held Arthur, not sure what to say, or what that had meant. For a long time he did nothing but stare at the wall over Arthur's shoulder. It was probably minutes, but as far as he was concerned, it could have been hours. He just gazed at the white, plain surface, contemplating, long after Arthur's breath had evened out in sleep. It was like his mind had just decided to go on overdrive, to veer in and out of control.

Then, when a solution struck him, he felt like he might cry. He pulled Arthur closer, so much so that it was probably uncomfortable. Feeling Arthur's heartbeat pattering against his own, he sighed shakily, relieved at the vital, pulsing sign of life. Then, he shut his eyes, intent on getting sleep, but knowing he would fail with the amount of information his mind was contemplating.

* * *

Arthur's eyes cracked open, finding the room still dimly lit, but not as dark as it was the night before. He needed to leave soon, but the idea of staying was so tempting, yet it was so dangerous. Their legs were pleasantly tangled and his head was still resting near the juncture where Alfred's neck met his shoulder. It was wonderfully warm, and the last thing he wanted to do was change back into his cold, wet clothes from the day before.

Still, he knew it was inevitable. Arthur shifted, trying to disentangle himself from the American, but failing. Gently, he shook the man's shoulder in an attempt to rouse him from sleep. It felt like an awfully cruel thing to do, what with his soft snores and comfortable position.

"Alfred." he said quietly, pulling back his legs and sitting up. Stubborn arms were still wrapped around his waist, like a vicegrip keeping him rooted there.

Arthur sighed and removed the arms, leaning down to kiss the slumbering man's temple. Then, an awful feeling settled in his gut. Would he see Alfred again? It was the same worry that had plagued him and driven him to his flat the night before. The feeling settled in and stirred around, bringing forth negativity and a terrible ache. He kissed his cheek and sighed shakily, not wanting to leave at all. He wanted to stay, desperately so, but as the clouds became orange and the sun began to shine through the window, he knew he couldn't.

"Alfred." he said, louder this time.

Alfred's nose began to crinkle as did his eyes before he blearily opened them. He began to yawn, but before he could, Arthur was kissing him.

"Wha?" he said, pulling away and yawning.

"I... I've got to go." Arthur murmured, riddled with terrible feelings.

Alfred frowned, half asleep. He pulled Arthur down again, forcing him to stay.

"No you don't."

"Yes I do!" he cried, trying to get out of Alfred's hold.

"Nope." The American shut his eyes stubbornly.

Then, it became quiet.

The sound of cars whirring by outside caught Alfred's attention, as did the sun's rays, flittering in through the shutters. It was like he had suddenly been drugged with a dose of naivete to his own surroundings. The walls were white, and the sun was, as rare as the occasion was, bright. The blankets were warm, but they should have been warmer.

Suddenly, as if he had been slapped in the face, he realized that he was hugging himself tightly, and that Arthur was gone. His wet clothes were gone. The creases in the bedsheets where he was, just seconds ago, were gone. The warmth was gone. It was like he had never been there in the first place.

* * *

The light stayed for a while. It dried the wet concrete and the slick roads, giving shine to alleyways and crevices that had never seen the sun's rays before. The vast, old city held an air of new to it. Many took this time to go to the beach, or perhaps to just vacation with distant relatives. Alfred was briefly reminded of home when he saw the blue sky above him, and, though it was completely inaccurate, it felt like a cover from the rain, like a parasol would be to the sun. He coughed, grimacing and scrunching his nose at the burning odor of cleaning supplies, soaking into his carpet and clearing the brown, splattered coffee stain.

_This city is haunted..._

With another dry cough and a wheeze, he stood, standing on the rag meant to settle the chemicals into the carpet. He stomped on it a bit for good measure, then shuffled into the kitchen, half-asleep thanks to his odd sleep schedule. At night, he could not find rest. Little memories and details prodded at his head like tiny demons with pitchforks, stabbing and tingling like a limb with lost blood. Going out made him paranoid. The simple task of walking down a busy city street made him question, made him consider the status of the people around him. Sometimes, he wondered who was dead or alive, who was lying just by being in their own skin, who was innocent. A kind passerby would smile politely, and he'd think, is that a real smile?

At night, he'd venture to the river. His eyes would scan the water's surface and its silky, cool patterns. He'd look deeply into it, trying to find the earth with his eyes but failing. His mind would venture, but still, he would be looking into the river, into nothing. Whatever Arthur had been gazing so intently into, he could not see it.

It had been weeks since he had last seen the green-eyed man.

Days had come and gone, all of them bright, sunny, happy. The glee flew right over his head, though. It just made him feel worse, because he knew Arthur was gone. He had vanished so suddenly, like the rain and the smog, like the dampened, old aura of the city. Slowly, ever so slowly, Alfred began to realize that it was Arthur that night. There was simply no denying the way in which his eyes glowed, like jade, ethereal little fireflies that came out in the night. It was him, it had to be.

Still, despite this revelation, there were so many untied knots, there was an endless sea of questions left to be answered. What were they, the apparitions that stalked the city? People, surely. Just the idea of this, though, obliterated any ideas and concepts of the dead now. Gray, transparent ghouls flushed down the drain with a long, drawn out rattling of rusty chains. Limping, rotted dead, with missing flesh and minds, all gone, gone with the final storm. Images of spherical orbs and dancing spirits raced by and dimmed with the bitter air.

Alfred thought about what he'd do if he were faced with the unlikely circumstance of meeting Arthur again. He wondered how Arthur would react, as well. The Brit would probably act like it was nothing special, but he'd still smile wanly, doing some nervous gesture with his hands and furrowing his eyebrows. Alfred would be happy, yes, but he would be unsure. It was still Arthur, but now Alfred knew something he almost wished he hadn't. Yet, he was glad he knew the truth. Something like pity found itself worming its way into his psyche, and it spiraled out of control. His train of thought often led back to a pale, dying man in the street, now an obviously lonely guy who only seemed to come with the rain and the dark. He was sure it was a lonely existence. If they were to meet again, Alfred was sure he would hug him, at least, because he felt the need to. With a glance at his front door, he sighed.

Of course, that was too good to be true.

Alfred lifted the rag off the ground, pleased that the stain had nearly vanished. He wasn't the kind of person to mind a faded stain, especially if it was barely visible. Tossing the rag into the basket of dirty clothes, he sprawled out on the couch, clicking on the TV and searching for something decent to watch.

Suddenly, a loud, terrible sound ripped through his apartment.

His breath instantly quickened and he sat up, finding the source of the noise to be his window. His heartbeat slowed, but now, he could not concentrate.

A large, gray pigeon was plastered to the glass, wings spread wide and disheveled. Its eyes were yellow and beady, big as saucers above its open, black beak. Feathers floated down from its flattened body, falling off its skin in a sickening way.

Alfred shuddered and walked to the window, grabbing a rag from his kitchen and sliding it open. With the cloth covering his hand he shut his eyes tightly, prodding at the bird to dislodge it from the glass. It fell with little effort, and Alfred watched as its body cascaded, slow, like a deflated balloon.

What he hadn't expected, though, and what surely happened, was for the bird to spring to life mid-fall. Its broken wings unfurled and it made a weak sound, flapping its wings and gaining a steady enough rhythm to slice through the air.

He watched, mesmerized, as feathers fell, and it flew into the sun.

* * *

After a week, the rain returned.

Alfred walked his usual route, protected by his jet black umbrella. He disinterestedly passed by the pub, sighing as he did so. He had not had anything alcoholic to drink since the night Arthur told him about the accident. The burn of it felt wrong, now, because that was what had caused his death.

The American shuddered at the thought, bundling his coat tighter around himself as rain dappled the previously dry pavement. Now, with the drops, came a happy feeling. This was familiar, the saccharine sun was not. He kicked a pebble as he walked the lonely road, yawning as the moon settled in behind gray clouds. Humming to himself, he failed to notice as buildings thinned, and fog thickened.

Before he knew it, he was next to the cemetery.

His feet, slowly, as if they had moved on their own accord, stopped. He stood, staring at the sidewalk, before his head whipped to the jagged lines of gray, marble headstones, of majestic, mossing statues and fences of trellis, of weathered gifts. Nervously, he stepped onto the grass, testing to see how the spongy soil felt against his feet. With a nervous sigh he ventured further in, shuddering as fog enveloped him and hid him from the outside world.

Tired blue eyes read every name, and he walked in a pattern, a zigzag, alternating in rows and columns. He did not know how long he was there. It was probably hours, for it was far too arduous of a task to take only minutes. When he finally considered leaving, because in his mind he thought it was pointless, stupid to be here, he was never going to see Arthur again, it was no use standing over his dead body, his eyes fell upon something that still made his stomach twist.

It wasn't large or fantastic, it was small, blended in with a crowd. The plate was bolted into the ground and had nothing but a name and two years etched into its sturdy surface. To him, though, it was like the nail on the coffin.

_Arthur Kirkland_

_1988-2011_

He dropped his umbrella, hearing it splash uselessly in the drenched ground. His heart plummeted, it sped up, yet it felt like it had stopped. For the longest time, he just stared.

It must have been hours before his sense came back to him. He turned to leave, but stopped dead in his tracks for the second time that night, gasping. He stepped back on reflex, stepping on his umbrella and slipping, landing in the water with a squishy, unpleasant splashing sound.

Now, it had been so long that he wasn't sure if he should be happy, or frightened. Deep down, though, he wanted to cry tears of joy. He looked up into the deepest green eyes he had ever seen and found his voice.

"How long have you been there?"

Arthur's eyes fell from Alfred's to the ground, and the American saw their red rims, and the leaking droplets blending with the rain. His skin was still so pale, and he looked so cold, wearing only gray jeans and a black, turtle neck sweater in weather that was more suited for heavy coats. He breathed, long and deep, leveled.

"I don't know, it would seem I had lost track of time." he rasped. His body shook as the rain poured, and water mercilessly pounded into the ground, creating an endless lake in the lowered terrain of the cemetery.

Alfred just sat, drenched in the water, and scared, but happy, and baffled. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything.

Then, Arthur spoke for a long time.

"Sometimes I do the same thing, just stare at it, like it's not supposed to be there. But... it is." Arthur choked out. "You and I both know that it is, and I... sometimes I wish I wasn't, and that it would take my place, because it's terrifying, being here like this. I can't stand it. I don't know where it takes me, but it does, and I'm just... gone. I just go when the rain does, and I can't recall where I go, I just do."

Alfred sat there, gaping like a fish, not understanding a single phrase leaving Arthur's lips.

"But the worst of it is, after... after you were there, when it happened, they thought I was asleep, they thought I wasn't feeling anything, but really, it hurt so much. It always hurt. It was like every ounce of my life that was spent pain-free became the opposite, like a sort of payment for my existence, and it was agonizing. And you know, my family, they... they actually flew in to see me. Would you like to know what they said?"

Alfred did not notice as his umbrella began to float away with the current of filthy water.

"They said, good riddance. They said, he was probably out getting pissed, like the useless shit he is. While they were near me, I heard them yelling at my mother for making them come all that way, and she just cried. All I ever heard was her crying. Then..." he breathed. "Then, they left, and so did the pain. It was like you'd expect it to be, lonely, nothing. But sometimes, while I waited for the unnatural heat I was feeling to spread, I would think about the last thing I saw, and that was you. I thought, you were kind. Anyone else would just call for help, and watch me die while they waited for the sirens. You, though, you just... made it better."

Arthur's shivering intensified, and his legs wobbled. He landed in the water with a murky splash, and his tears looked like the rain when they hit the water's surface.

"You made the pain go away for a while, and in my haze, I thought, maybe, on some circumstance, if I were to see that boy again, I would thank him."

Alfred was crying too, silently, only burdened with the feeling of it, and not actually reacting.

"I would thank him, and, I remember, it was my last thought."

Arthur then laughed breathlessly, shuddering, moving with frigid cold.

"I thought, drugged, perhaps, but I meant it. I thought, I would love him. And after two years of nothing, I find that I... I do."

They both sat for a while, quiet, and soon, Arthur put his head in his hands and just cried. It wasn't a loud bawling, more like a gentle venting. When his body began to tip, though, like he was about to fall over, Alfred rushed forward and grabbed him. He held him, frail and weak, swinging back and forth, be it for comfort or from his own exhaustion. Warm tears soaked into his shirt and contrasted with frigid, icy rain.

He shuddered and tried in vain to protect Arthur from the storm that always seemed to accompany him.

"I..." he croaked, finally finding his voice. "I love you too."

Arthur let Alfred hold him, sighing breathlessly. He felt relieved, happy, but still, a weight sat on his shoulders, and an endless void was open behind him, waiting to take him away again. He only wished that the dark would stay once the night ended.

The rain fell, and so did the night, it lay protecting the city from the sunshine that hid the beautiful shadows.

* * *

Alfred carried Arthur home. He wasn't sure when, exactly, the Brit had lost consciousness, but he had. Bundling him and picking him up hadn't been very difficult; the slender man was very light. His head lolled against Alfred's shoulder, limply resting against the frigid, drenched cloth of his shirt. The fact that Arthur stayed asleep through the jostling worried Alfred some, but he didn't try to shake him awake. Instead, he waded through the water and snatched his umbrella, a rather difficult task when both of his arms were busy holding another person. Still, he succeeded, and he held it a bit awkwardly above their heads, bending his hand uncomfortably while he carried Arthur. Finding his way out of the cemetery proved difficult, too, for it was not wise to go wandering into its boundaries during the earliest hours of a new day.

Rain fell like needles and cleared the fog a bit, granting visibility and clarity. He sighed as he stepped onto the path, glad that there was no one else around, and that he wouldn't gather a crowd. Arthur shuddered in his sleep, and Alfred picked up his pace, antsy to get home and into a decent temperature.

The trees and their hanging, delicate leaves thinned, and the mud from the earthy ground decreased. Buildings once again became visible and streetlights did, too. In their yellow vicinity one could pick out transparent droplets, falling like little wisps through the light. He strode past the pub, and didn't bat an eye. A car drove by, and he glanced at the woman inside. She gave them a peculiar glance but continued to drive, speeding, and gliding on the water. The last of the trees faded, as did their psithurism.

Alfred exhaled softly, a small smile spreading across his face at the sight of his own breath, clouding and fading into the fog. He kissed the crown of Arthur's head, and continued to walk.

* * *

Alfred put Arthur down with a sigh, rolling his aching shoulders and fixing his glasses. The Brit landed on his bed with a slight bounce, eyes slipping barely open for a small moment. Alfred fixed the buttons on Arthur's borrowed pajama top, leaving one open at the top for comfort. When he noticed Arthur staring at him, he offered a small smile, and Arthur smiled groggily in return, turning and drifting back to sleep. Alfred couldn't help but wonder how he'd fallen asleep in the first place, in the freezing, sopping weather, but he was grateful for the relaxing change of pace.

Drawing the blankets out from under Arthur, he covered the smaller man, admiring the simple way in which his damp hair splayed across the pillow, or the way his hands curled, the way they hid behind the too-long sleeves. Beside him, Alfred slipped into the bed as well.

Seeing him like this, all curled up in his bed with the most peaceful look adorning his face, almost made Alfred forget the accident.

He almost forgot the vacancy his eyes held, or the way they helplessly closed. The memory of terrible red almost disappeared, like it did in reality, dissolving into asphalt. When faced with the warmth of the bed, he forgot his cold hands, and his sickeningly pale skin.

Alfred shuddered, and despite these changes, the memory, all of those things combined, would not leave. With gentle hands he traced where the wound should have been, red, open, and angry, just below Arthur's heart, bleeding out life and giving it to the ruthless world. He drew imaginary lines where the scars should have been, but weren't. As a medicinal man, he wondered how Arthur's life ended, what was bleeding. He wondered how he had heard his family while unconscious, speaking with ill intent toward him, and how they could speak about him in that way.

Breathlessly, he moved down, down, kissing where he knew the wound was, and where his hands were. The fabric of the shirt bunched up with his inhales, but he didn't care. He stayed in that spot as his eyes slowly shut, and soon the dim lighting from the window became black outside his eyelids.

* * *

Arthur stayed.

For as long as he could, anyway. The rain would stick around for a while, and for that they were both grateful. Sometimes, one of them would peer out the window with paranoia riddling them, but they would sigh, relieved, when they found there was no visible blue in the sky.

It was odd, the way everything seemed to fall into place. Those weeks played out for them in a similar way to that of a domestic lifestyle, and Alfred found himself falling in love with Arthur even more. Arthur, in turn, often found himself unable to control his affections, and immediately denied them afterward. They both knew he meant them, though, and sometimes this would land him wrapped up in a tight hug.

It was a mutual decision not to think about the coming sunlight, or the bright morning. They simply focused on the time they had, not the time they would lose. Sometimes, though, negativity would get the best of them. Alfred would worry about the weather while he typed away on his laptop, and Arthur, able to see this just from his expression, would assure that, when he could, he would come back. No matter what. There was always the hanging question of when that would be, though.

One day, he asked Arthur about the river, and what he saw in it.

"It's just like the city." he answered casually. "It's haunted. It reminds me of the cemetery, actually. When I see bubbles rise to the surface, I think of little ghost towns, and I wonder when I'll just disappear like that."

A sardonic smile appeared in his expression, then softened into a pensive, unreadable look.

Another day, he asked him why he slept so often.

"Because, like I've said, I'm tired. It's rather hard to find a place to sleep when all you do is wander the streets endlessly."

They seldom exchanged I love yous.

When they did, though, it was in between heated kisses, or before they went to bed. One particular rainy morning, Arthur had woken Alfred with a tug to his cowlick and said it brightly to his face. He was rewarded with an expression like that of a gaping fish and a blush to match, and the younger man, embarrassed, covered the sensitive spot with a shielding hand.

Every time it was said, though, it was meant wholeheartedly. When Arthur yawned, curled up in bed, he would whisper it to himself, and hope the younger man heard it in his dreams.

* * *

Alfred had a dilemma.

With fixated, contemplating eyes, he glared daggers at the offending grocery aisle in front of him. He clutched his basket tightly and felt marks digging into his skin, and he told himself to just leave before Arthur returned from the tea aisle, but he couldn't.

Every shelf was completely packed with colorful, lamely titled sex essentials. He read the names with ironic humor, laughing on the inside.

He wanted to leave. He so desperately wanted to just leave, leave and never think of it again, but...

What if Arthur left? What if they never had the chance?

He wouldn't be opposed to the idea. Quite the opposite, actually. He wanted to. But there was always that fear that he wouldn't be good enough. There was always the lingering anxiety that arose with those thoughts, and with bitter recollection, he figured it was probably due to his family sheltering him until he left for college at the age of 21. The poor guy had never even had anything close to a relationship, let alone sex.

Hesitantly, he poked a box of condoms as if it were about to lash out and bite him. It didn't, though. It just tilted back slightly from the touch, then came back into position. The tacky brand name leered at him defiantly, and he frowned, feeling his face heat.

Glancing to his left side and his right, he found himself alone in the aisle. Only the elevator esq music blaring from the speakers accompanied him, as did his own, in his opinion, pathetic conflicts. With one final glance around, and an embarrassed glare at the store camera above him, he picked up the same box he had poked earlier and turned it over in his hands, studying it as if everything inscribed on the cardboard was written in some ancient alien language.

He squeezed the box a little too tightly, face on fire and hands shaking.

Damn them for sheltering him so. He was 21, and at his age, he was supposed to be some kind of guru with this stuff. But no, he was more of a blushing bride than most prepubescent boys. Most of his teen years were spent inside doing nothing but homework or playing video games. His room, at the time, was located in the basement. For some odd reason, his parents had moved him down there after they discovered he wasn't exactly straight as an arrow. This was all fine and dandy to him, for a while, but soon it got worse. They wouldn't let him go outside for purposes other than school. They would closely monitor every single inkling of a meager friendship he ever managed, unless it was with a girl, in which case they would praise the poor thing until she was scared off. His brother would often view him in sympathy, but he never did anything otherwise. Soon after, they got him out of school. They began teaching him at home, and his education actually skyrocketed. He became completely enamored with the written text and began to ignore his entertainment values in favor of long nights studying. It had become a minor obsession, one that was rare among teens.

His mother and his step-father were kind, but some of that kindness, he could tell, was false. They were paranoid was what they were, paranoid because they didn't know what to do with him. They chided him for being strange and urged him to go out, make friends, all the while it was as if they turned into different people when he, himself, proposed the idea. Perhaps it was the tone of his voice, or the look in his eyes.

Then, one night, he sneaked out through the small window near his ceiling. It was a tight fit, and the jagged rocks from the pit in his yard dug into his skin, dirtying his shirt, but he didn't care. He kicked them as he left, toeing through the yard with anxious silence in his step. Every rustle of the grass tingled his nerves and he found himself looking behind himself at his house the farther he went. When his feet hit the concrete of the sidewalk, though, he broke into a run. He sped across town, not stopping for anything, receiving strange looks from passerbys. He didn't bat an eye to them.

When time slowed, though, and midnight approached, he stopped running. He leaned against a signpost, panting, catching his breath. Sweat had gathered on his forehead, caking his face, and it had spread all throughout his body. With a frustrated yelp, he kicked the metal post, instantly regretting it but remaining defiant all the same. He glared at nothing, but pretended that nothing, that spot on the concrete, was his mother's overbearing face. He could almost smell her artificial perfume from the image, could almost hear the nasal air to her voice. Immediately, he stomped on the image.

For a while, he just leaned against the cool metal, letting its soothing, icy temperature assuage him. Soon, he stopped breathing heavily, and closed his eyes. He thought he should have stayed home. What was the point of sneaking out? He had no one to run away to. Looking up at the sky, he fixed his glasses, finding the rare stars not completely obscured by pollution and city glint. Face still resting on the metal, he sighed shakily, looking back down. A lecture awaited him at home, surely. He would be confined to his room for the night, not that that was any different from normal. He kicked the post again and delighted in the way the sturdy sign wobbled.

Just then, as if he had called for it, he heard a motor from a distance away. It became louder, more concentrated as the presumed vehicle sped closer.

Alfred looked up at the sign. A bus stop.

He shut his eyes as, sure enough, a rustic, old bus crept in front of the stop. Its gas warmed him but made him cough and he backed away, fanning it away with his hands. The doors opened with a creak and a large, flushed bus driver looked at him expectantly. He reeked of alcohol.

Alfred thought about it. He stood there, looking like an idiot and staring at the old bus. Its tires and its brake creaked just by being still, but it was something. Something to get away. With one, last reflective glance at the black sky and the stars, he stepped into the bus, climbing the stairs and choosing a seat. It was strange, the way the bus was so empty, as well as the street it was following.

After a long while, thunder sounded outside, and minutes later, rain began to sprinkle onto the ground outside. At least he was warm, and not at home.

His mind came back to reality and he found himself standing rigidly in the colorful aisle once again. Frowning, he shook his head, wondering what he was thinking in the first place. He moved to place the dented box back on the shelf, but to his mortification, a hand snatched it away before he could. Slowly he turned, and his eyes fell upon one of the most unimpressed looks he had ever seen.

"Haha... ha... hey." Alfred said meekly, red as a cherry, adding on a little innocent wave.

Arthur's eyebrows were raised and his frown was lopsided. Daintily, he placed a fancy tin of tea in the shopping basket before returning to staring at Alfred in question, accursed box in hand. His eyebrows seemed to inch farther up and he shook the box for emphasis, rattling its contents and creating a jumbling, crinkling sound.

Without elegance he dropped the box into the basket, silently scanning the shelves for something more. He, too, wore a bit of pink on his face, but Alfred was sure it was nothing compared to the crimson painted across his own expression. With a click of his tongue, Arthur reached forward and grabbed a small bottle of lubrication, tossing it in the basket with the other items.

Arthur stood straight to peck Alfred on the cheek. Then, with a little pat to his flushed face, he smiled slightly.

"I'll be outside." he said, before leaving on his merry way.

Alfred stared at his retreating form for a long time, until he vanished through the automatic doors. Then, he looked at the basket, at the door, at the basket, the door, before breaking into a jog to checkout. He paid for the items in the self checkout, because it would have just been terrifically awkward paying for them with the help of a cashier.

Bolting outside, he found Arthur standing by the door, a light flush still dusting the apple of his cheeks. With a breathy laugh he shrugged, swinging the bag and grinning. The Brit just smiled and shook his head, parting from the wall to begin the rainy walk home.

* * *

Later that evening, Arthur grew nervous. His fingers twitched against the handle of his mug, currently steaming with newly bought tea. Earlier he had complained about Alfred's lack of real teacups, but the American had just waved him off, saying something about patriotism and that it was a primary rule for every American to own 5 mugs with the American flag printed on them, lest they be sacrificed to the spirit of the bald eagle himself. Alfred owned 10.

He softly blew on the tea, watching as the herbal steam wafted away from the rush of air. He tapped the red, white, and blue glass listlessly, staring at the table for a while and its many cup stains. He glanced at Alfred, tapping away at his laptop and sitting on the couch. Then at the window, grateful for the seemingly endless rain showering the city. Briefly his eyes flew to the shopping bag left on the counter, but he immediately turned back to the table, feeling his ears turn red.

He took a sip of his tea. Then, he tapped the mug some more, stirring, stirring.

Finally he glanced at the bag again.

Had he been too forward? Maybe... maybe Alfred was just looking?

Of course, the young man hadn't objected, but still, it was worrying that he hadn't said anything...

"Hey, Arthur?"

"Yes!" Arthur nearly squeaked, jumping and rattling his chair. He speedily turned to Alfred, finding him looking back at him from over the back of the couch. The American was frowning slightly, with a bit of a blush. Oh, god, he must have seen Arthur looking at the bag.

"Er," Alfred stumbled, "how do you spell necessary?"

Arthur blinked, then relaxed.

"N-e-c-e-s-s-a-r-y."

"Thanks."

Alfred turned back to his laptop, fingers once again tapping away at his keyboard. Arthur seemed to wilt. He just sat, staring at the back of Alfred's head with a frown. He then looked back at the bag and sipped his tea.

* * *

He must not have noticed. That, or Alfred did it on the sly.

Days passed and soon Arthur forgot all about the items in the bag. He had focused solely on his time with Alfred and nothing else, not caring what they did as long as he was just there. Arthur did, however, notice when the bag disappeared from the counter. It was just like the other days spent with him at first and he didn't question it. Perhaps Alfred had disposed of them. This brought a quick frown to Arthur's face, but he immediately banished it with a huff. If Alfred wasn't ready, then neither was he.

On that day, they were both sat on the sofa, watching whatever boring murmurs appeared on the television. A spokesperson raved about some product, and an intense series trailer blabbered on, before the actual show returned, just as boring as the advertisements.

Suddenly, the TV clicked off. Arthur saw the program dissipate into a little flash before the screen was black. His ears rang, startled by the sudden quiet. He looked at Alfred, finding him holding up the remote and aiming it at the device. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he was shaking slightly, glaring at nothing in particular.

"Alfred?"

As if he had been burned, the American snapped his eyes shut, breathing deeply and still shuddering. Slowly, his eyes reopened, and he turned to look Arthur in the eyes with the same perplexed look adorning his features.

"I, uh..." his mumbled incoherently, and his mouth seemed to curl into a grimace. He cleared his throat and breathed deeply. Arthur quirked an eyebrow, frowning at his antics.

"Yes?"

Alfred coughed. He started to say something else, but stammered and failed again. He tumbled over his own words, and his shaking increased. He set the remote down and removed his glasses, gently putting them on the end table with a little clink.

With a shaky, nervous breath, he gripped Arthur by the shoulders.

"I!" he started again, before losing his enthusiasm. "Er..."

Arthur huffed, placing a hand on the one gripping his shoulder much too tightly.

"Say it, then." he urged.

Instead of doing as Arthur asked, though, he simply escalated forward and practically rammed Arthur into the armrest, roughly tackling him and plastering their lips together, creating a hasty, messy kiss. Arthur gasped and pulled away as much as he could, head hanging uncomfortably over the edge of the couch. Alfred hands tethered him up, though, preventing his top half from falling over.

"What was-" he started to say, but was interrupted by a crushing hug. His back strained against the armrest and he squirmed, trying to get out from under the young man. Alfred whined, clutching him tighter and nearly crushing him.

"I! Ugh... shit." Alfred exhaled and moved so that he was straddling Arthur, still crushing him against his torso. "I, um, I want to..." he trailed off, murmuring something indiscernible at the end of the sentence.

"Yes?" Arthur breathed, already having a guess at what Alfred was about to ask. He circled his arms around Alfred's back, grabbing little handfuls of his tacky blue hoodie.

"But it sounds so- so corny!" Alfred giggled, regaining some of his usual vitality.

"Say it." Arthur laughed, too, a small chuckle that left him like a sigh. He closed his eyes, nuzzling the horrendous hoodie.

"Fine!" Alfred whined. He cleared his throat and moved down, resting his head on Arthur's shoulder and breathing on his ear. In the most falsetto bedroom voice he could manage, he whispered airily, nibbling and kissing at the soft skin he found.  
"I want to... _make love_ to you."

It actually made Arthur shudder, despite the humorous way in which it was said.

After he said it, Alfred burst into a fit of laughter, nuzzling Arthur's shoulder and neck.  
"Oh god, that was awful." he said between guffaws.

"Yes. Yes it was." Arthur agreed.

Still, Arthur hugged him close until he stopped laughing, once again content just to be there. After the humor died down, they were both still, listening to the rain tap the walls and the glass. It felt like the TV was still on, murmuring mindless noise into the space. But, really, it was just their own heads, yammering on and going on thousand miles a minute.

"And..." Arthur breathed. "And, yes. Let's do that."

Alfred made a little sound in his throat, like a nervous whine.

"But... but uh." he cleared his throat. "I've, um, never done this before. And I might not be... that... well, good."

Arthur pushed himself up, sitting and giving Alfred a reassuring smile.

"I'm sure you'll be wonderful."

Lovingly, he guided extra strands of hair away from the American's face, before leaning in and kissing him sweetly. His hands went from Alfred's cheeks to around his collarbone and chest, just resting there and gripping the fabric for the time being. He felt nervous hands wrap around his waist and he sighed at the feeling.

Sure, they kissed often, and sometimes it got a little out of hand, but it was nothing like this. His heart raced and his hands curled at the fluttering feeling welling up inside him. It almost tickled him, inside and out, and he moved closer to Alfred in a strange attempt to hide from the distracting, but not entirely unwelcome feeling.

Softly, he opened his mouth against the kiss, welcoming Alfred's eager tongue inside. He almost moaned at the intensified sensation but kept it to himself, finding that to be rather embarrassing and unnecessary. He inched closer still and moved to sit on Alfred's lap, one leg on each side of his waist. His hands moved up and down his chest, trying to feel the muscles but not finding them thanks to the damn hoodie Alfred insisted on wearing. Sliding his hands down, he pulled the fabric up, abandoning the kiss and throwing the thing into some unimportant corner of the room.

Arthur pushed him down so that his back rested on the couch and he slid forward so that he was straddling his hips. He noted Alfred's nervous expression and hummed lightly, dipping down to give a chaste little kiss to his swollen lips.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Arthur murmured. He began kissing along his jaw and to his ear, down his neck. Body was flush with Alfred's, everything began to grow a bit warm. He delved deeper into that pleasant, close heat, arching his back and simultaneously bringing their lower halves closer together.

"H-hell yeah..." Alfred breathed, tracing his hands up Arthur's thighs and gripping his hips, guiding him into a rhythm. "Just ah... keep doing that."

"O-oh... uhm, _mn_..." he forgot what he was going to say as he was dragged down again and again. Their clothed groins rubbed together so heavily, so forcefully. Arthur felt Alfred grow hard under him and he greedily added his own friction, breathing heavily as they savagely ground together. He really was going say something, he remembered, but at that moment he simply didn't care. Alfred panted erratically in his ear and Arthur, despite his haze, got a good look at his face, eyes fluttering out of bliss, mouth ajar with little curses and restrained sounds. Arthur bit his lip. He was feeling greedy; he wanted more. He needed to feel Alfred without this restraint they always had. Arthur wanted to feel him through and through, he wanted him inside, caressing his inner walls, he wanted him everywhere, all at once.

"_Ah_, Al-Alfred..."

"_Yeah_..."

Arthur wasn't sure if Alfred was responding or just moaning. He tried to push off him, but Alfred was holding him down too tightly. Arthur considered it possible that his hips might bruise.

"Alfred!" he kept trying to get his attention, but it seemed that the American was too far gone. With an impatient grunt, Arthur sat up, and found it hard to stop with the newly discovered angle. He gasped and sat for a moment, unable to completely rid himself of the sensation, before coming to his senses once again.

With a huff, he leaned forward and roughly flicked the American on his euphoric face.

"Ow!" Alfred yelped, tenderly rubbing the spot with a pout. "What?"

Arthur sighed fondly, still sat comfortably atop Alfred's arousal as if it were no big deal. He shifted slightly, accidentally making Alfred gasp and curse.

"Are we going to move to the bedroom, or are we just going to keep doing this?"

Alfred laughed breathlessly, plopping his head back on the armrest with a giddy smile on his face.

"God, I don't know, but that was _awesome_."

Arthur chuckled too. Alfred was looking up at the ceiling with such an adorably dazed expression that Arthur wanted to sweetly kiss it away. His pants were still tight, though, and he hoped Alfred would move things to the bedroom. Still, he left the decision to him, not wanting to pressure him into anything he didn't want to do.

"Your choice, Love." he shifted again, and truly began to grow rather uncomfortable in his own trousers. With a strained sigh he reached down and slowly palmed himself, a desperate attempt to relieve some of the pressure. "But hurry, if you would." Arthur added as an afterthought.

Alfred swallowed thickly, eyes following Arthur's hand. He gaped like a fish before finding an answer, buried deep in his throat as he watched that hand move.

"Er, bedroom."

"Mmm?"

"Yeah, uh, bedroom." he blushed and looked away, acting like he found the back of the couch extremely interesting. The sensation of Arthur's eyes staring into him made him gulp, and his heart raced.

"How do you want to do it?" Arthur asked softly. Again, Alfred looked at him, and found him gazing with half-lidded eyes, smiling gently. His green eyes were soft, reassuring, and Alfred felt his anxieties lessen.

"I don't know, I'm not exactly an expert on this kind of thing."

Arthur snickered and pulled his shirt over his head, flinging it somewhere unimportant. Best to get rid of it now, anyway.

"Well," Arthur said, looking pensive, "I think it might be easier for you if it was just like this."

Alfred tilted his head to the side and blinked like a confused puppy. "Easier for me?"

"Easier for you." Arthur repeated, and he punctuated his statement with a little jolt of his hips. "Like this." he murmured lowly.

Alfred hissed and sat up, facing a wickedly grinning Arthur. He placed hands on Arthur's bare sides in an attempt to stop his movements, but the pressure was still there, and he could not deny the feeling of the smaller man pressing him down into the cushions. It took all he had to not just force him down onto the couch and just grind him into the pillows, but he resisted. Instead, he breathed in his scent, and held him still so he could control himself.

"That's easier for me? I don't think I could just lie there with you on top of me like that..." he chided playfully, nipping on the soft, pale skin now available to him. He brought them together and bit down on the spot connecting neck to shoulder, priding in the way that Arthur arched and sighed suddenly, meekly, baring more of his neck to Alfred.

"I won't let you move." Arthur breathed, steadily losing his voice to the feeling. Chills ran down his spine as his neck was assaulted and his toes curled. Hands ghosted across his backside and he silently gasped when they gripped, tightened. It kept him in place and drove him crazy.

"Alfred..." he sighed. The kisses and nips moved to his collarbone, and he felt himself go weak. He was intoxicated by the man before him, and the way his hair tickled his neck, the sensation of breath tickling down his chest. He felt the arousal build up within him and suddenly found himself helpless to Alfred, as he liked to be.

Alfred stood, carrying Arthur with him, and the green-eyed man wrapped his legs tightly around him along with his arms, clinging to him because he had to but also because he wanted to. Alfred stumbled out of the living room and into the hall, bumping Arthur's back into the door. He pinned him there for leverage so that he could let go for a moment and hastily fiddled with the door knob. Alfred's mouth left his throat and he kissed him hungrily, instantly pushing his tongue into the other's mouth and memorizing.

Finally, the door opened and Alfred almost dropped Arthur but saved him at the last moment. They stumbled in and lacking in any grace whatsoever, Alfred dropped Arthur on the bed to save his aching shoulders. That had been a lot harder than he thought it would be. When Arthur landed, he reached desperately for Alfred and pulled him down so that he landed on top of him. Guiding a hand down, he lifted the American's shirt up and over his head, dropping it onto the floor with a gust of air. When he reached for the button of his jeans, though, accepting that Alfred wanted to dominate, something like a physical presence flooded the room, like an inversion. Any and all confidence seemed to drain out of the American, vanishing in thin air. He was still horribly aroused, though, and his face grew red as a beet. Arthur unbuttoned them and played with the zipper, thumbing the exposed, thin cloth of his boxers, and stopping short when he noticed Alfred's hesitance. Immediately he reeled his hand away, looking into Alfred's red face with disappointed confusion.

"Uh." Alfred mumbled, knowing Arthur was waiting for him to say something.

"Yes?" Arthur prodded impatiently. He wanted so badly to finish the job already, it was getting ridiculous how slowly they were moving. But he had to be patient for Alfred. He waited and gazed at his blushing face, breath irregular and coming in pants. When Alfred still didn't say anything, he found his eyes wandering down the vulnerable, flushed skin of his throat, traveling to his tan, smooth chest and making a line down his abs to the rather impressive bulge he sported near his groin. Arthur licked his lips and stared. How the hell was Alfred a virgin again...?

"I... I, uh... Arthur, my uh, my face is... up here."

Arthur instantly looked up as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't. He laughed innocently. Alfred cleared his throat.

"So yeah, I, well, I have no idea what to do at this point." he had the heart to laugh at himself, and Arthur grinned, but quirked an eyebrow.

"Do you know anything? At all?"  
"Not... not really." he laughed again, and Arthur found that he could easily get used to the sound.

Arthur clicked his tongue and sat up, placing his hands on Alfred's bare shoulders. He looked him in the eyes.

"Do you still want to do this?" he asked seriously. Arthur would stop immediately, if that was what Alfred wished.

The man in question huffed.

"Well, I'd be letting you down if I didn't, so-"

"I'm not asking about me, I'm asking about you."

"I... Yeah, I do."

From Arthur's angle, Alfred was under him, looking up at him, with the most nervous look on his face. It seemed that his previous gall had vanished, making way for a not necessarily unwanted nervousness, but an endearing one, one that made Arthur croon, smile, and flip them over.

"I'll teach you, then."

Now on top, Arthur continued the task at hand. He gently glided his hand down, down, until his fingers came in contact with the cold, indented metal of his zipper. As the pants were discarded, he guided his lips to Alfred's, and the heat picked up once again as their tongues hungrily sparred, as Arthur cupped him through his boxers, experimentally touching, and creating an almost unbearable friction. Alfred broke away from the kiss to pant and gasp. The first time they did something like this, and many of the times in between, he had been done at just that, at the covered, protected, but amazing touch of Arthur's hand. This time, however, he was determined to last. It put strain on him, but he thought, in the end, it would be worth it.

Arthur captured another kiss, swallowing up his desperate sounds. The touches continued, alternating between the simple brush of a hand to fully stroking him through the fabric. Alfred didn't know what to do with his own hands. He simply nervously held Arthur's sides because he didn't know what to do, how to please him. They separated to breathe and Arthur finally stopped the groping. Alfred missed the touch, but he was also relieved for the moment to regain his composure, to breathe deeply. Arthur worked on his own trousers, and soon they were discarded onto the floor along with everything else.

Alfred swallowed thickly, watching Arthur's pale, slender body as he frowned and looked around.

"Where did you put them?" Arthur asked, impatient.

"Under the bed..." he replied.

Arthur leaned over the side of the bed, hand searching underneath for the items they had bought on a previous shopping adventure. He found the box of condoms and small bottle of lube, returning and depositing them onto the bed. Then, he kissed him, languid and hot, before leaving lingering, open kisses on his neck and jaw. He played with the waistline of Alfred's boxers before pulling them away. Looking at what was to come, he found he was pleased.

Alfred's heart stuttered but he let it happen, reveling in the loss of containment on his strained erection. Arthur didn't waste any time. Quickly, he removed his own shorts, brushing them aside with a pent up sigh.

Settled, he crawled over the American once again, offering a small smile and kissing him chastely. With a deep breath he ground their lower halves together, softly moaning and arching as their cocks pressed together and slid. Unable to help himself, Arthur thrust into it, listening to Alfred make the most delicious sounds while he was in no better condition. Reaching blindly for the lube, he grasped the bottle and uncapped it, never stopping his hips from moving as the cool substance coated his fingers. Once it was warmed, he slowed his thrusts, making them longer and more drawn out. Face buried in Alfred's shoulder, he gasped and bit down as he pushed a slick finger into himself.

"A-Art-... _mh_..." Alfred gasped. Arthur was having a hard time concentrating on any one task, varying between preparing himself and the movement of his hips. He heard Alfred's desperate gasp, and he panted, easing his bite. It always hurt, but it would be worth it.

"Hold on, Love..." he breathed, and Alfred whined. One finger became two, and he bit his lip at the burning, the stretch. They scissored, and became three, and soon they were gone. Ripping open the box, he opened the wrapper with his teeth because his hands were far too slick, and rolled it onto Alfred, slicking him with what was left on his hands.

Arthur's legs were on either side of him and he was sat up just above Alfred's erection. Alfred was an incoherent mess, now panting and recovering from the ceaseless, bare grinding.

Finally, with grit teeth and a clenched jaw, he slowly lowered himself onto the awaiting hardness, breathing heavily when Alfred was fully sheathed. Sweat poured down his body and his eyes inched open to find Alfred with his eyes clenched shut, and his mouth hanging open. When Arthur moved, rocking forward slightly, Alfred gasped, gripping Arthur's thighs tightly. He moved around, shifting until he found that one bundle of nerves inside himself, and gasping when he did, arching and going still.

"D-does it feel good?" Arthur murmured, still for the moment.

Alfred nodded vigorously, face bright red as he seemed to be restraining himself from doing something. He had not expected it to be so tight, or so hot, or so fucking good. He could already feel himself reaching completion, and Arthur wasn't even moving yet. The feeling lingered, as did his patience, both taut and waiting to break.

Then, Arthur started to move. He made it so that spot was touched again and again, becoming a disheveled mess as he rocked forward, back, everywhere he could. Alfred pulsed inside him, alive and there. Arthur rode into the feeling, moaning and gasping, panting. His toes curled into the sheets and he cried out as the spot was hit particularly hard, and he realized that Alfred was holding him, guiding his movements with a tight grip like they had done on the couch.

What he was not expecting, though, was for Alfred's grip to tighten and for him to sit up so that they were flush together, chest to chest. Arthur felt himself moving up and down Alfred's cock, he was forced down again and again by Alfred's demanding hold, but he didn't mind because the angle hit the spot again and again, harshly, but wonderfully, and he felt his senses grow blurry, he felt himself grow dizzy.

Alfred had lost himself in the sensation. No thoughts found their way into his head as he roughly pushed into that heat, and he found himself saying Arthur's name, he felt himself grow close, too close. Arthur cried his name, too, and tears streamed down his face. For a moment, Alfred worried that he was hurting him, but the thought was quickly lost when he felt Arthur tighten around him as he came, soiling their chests. The heat and the close, slick tightness became too much for him, and he came soon after, nearly screaming. He held Arthur tightly as the high ended, and he breathed heavily, sighing against him. The smaller man was limp, and Alfred's worries resurfaced.

Urges became worries, but he didn't voice them. Instead, he fell back, taking Arthur with him and bouncing on the bed until they stilled.

Arthur felt warm hands begin to stroke through his hair, and he shut his eyes, content with where he was. When he was drifting off, Alfred's voice roused him from sleep.

"Did I hurt you?"

It was muttered hoarsely and quietly, Arthur almost didn't hear him. He opened his eyes again and lazily lifted his head, blinking slowly and looking into Alfred's worried eyes.

"Well, yeah, but..." he yawned and settled again. "But there's no way you wouldn't have."

The hand in his hair continued, and when he fell into slumber, the last thing he remembered was a soft, lingering kiss atop his forehead.

* * *

The rain became weaker.

Its relentless onslaught of clear, liquid fireworks lessened in intensity. The constant assault of impressive droplets upon glass faded and made way for the depressing, meager effect of miniscule little drops, only occasionally tapping on the window and looking more like condensation than anything.

"Will you be back with the next rain?"

Arthur was roused from his daze by Alfred's voice. He looked away from the cooling, sugared tea to the American by the window, sitting in a stool and staring through the glass as if it was an intense motion picture. Alfred blinked and looked away, then. His eyes met Arthur's and they almost shared a moment of contemplation.

"I don't know." Arthur replied. He sipped the tea and grimaced at how cold it was.

"But... if you can, you will, right?" Alfred questioned. He hopped up from the stool and padded across the kitchen, standing next to Arthur and studying his thoughtful gaze.

"Of course." he replied after a while.

"So the problem is, you don't know if you'll be able to."

Arthur blinked, then clenched his eyes shut. He massaged his temples and put his head in his hands as if he had a migraine, though he didn't, and he leaned into the table, pushing the cold tea aside. Alfred knelt next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he murmured.

Arthur set his jaw and sat up again.

"I'm fine. No, I don't know if I will be able to come back."

Alfred seemed to wilt and tense at the same time. Arthur turned to face him, and a sunken frown played at his face. He watched as Alfred stood once again and plopped down on the couch, bouncing until he became still. The American turned to he was facing the back of the couch and for a while he just stayed there. When the trembling started, Arthur let out a rushed breath and stood, slowly toeing his way to Alfred. His face was hidden in the crevices and folds of his hoodie, buried in the corner of the cushion, but thanks to the quiet little gasps and whimpers coming from him, Arthur felt like he had a pretty good guess as to what was going on.

"Love..." he murmured gently. He placed a hand on Alfred's side and attempted to turn him over, but to no avail, he did not budge. "Alfred." he pleaded, and his voice broke.

Alfred used his sleeves to wipe his face, sniffling as he did so. He hupped and rolled over so that he was looking up at Arthur with red, bloodshot eyes. Shining tears lined the edges, glistening, and a few he wasn't able to catch as they fell. Arthur rolled his sleeve over his hand and reached down to wipe them away. He didn't say a word but sat on the ground next to the couch so that he was eye level with Alfred.

"When I found myself here again, in the cemetery, that is..." Arthur breathed deeply. He shut his eyes in thought, before opening them again. The pressure of his own tears fought to escape, but he held them in. Personally, he felt that he had cried more than enough in the cemetery. "I had only one thing on my mind, and that was that I needed to... to find you. It's strange, I didn't even know you, at the time. I just knew that you tried to help me."

Alfred blinked, and his eyes burned with the action.

"You... you tried, at least. Thank you for that." he dried the trails of saltwater traveling down Alfred's face, sighing as he did so. "No one had ever tried with me. And they were right in not doing so. They... I was not very kind to them either. But something in me, like it was just... manually put into my head, told me I had to find you."

Alfred's tears became few. He calmed as he listened to Arthur speak, and was simply relaxed by the sound of his voice.

"I was always just sitting around, soaking wet and without an umbrella, thinking to myself, how the hell am I supposed to find him when he's across the Atlantic Ocean?" he chuckled as he spoke. "Most of the time I was angry. When there is light, I'm gone, and it feels like I don't even exist. Sometimes it's a dream, but usually, there's just nothing. I wanted to be like that all the time. I didn't care anymore if some kid had tried to save my life, I really didn't. I just wanted to be gone."

Arthur grinned wanly. He rested the side of his head on his palm, using the other hand to lazily play with Alfred's messy hair. Alfred blushed at the look Arthur was giving him, but otherwise didn't do anything.

"But sometimes I'd think, no. No, he was incredibly kind. And rather handsome. I should not think of him like that. Did you know, the moment the ambulance came for me that night, I just stared at you as they carried me away. I looked at you as you stood, eyes wide in the dark road like a scared animal. You just stood there in a puddle of my blood. In my delirious mind, I thought, I love that boy for doing that. Though at the time I was numb, and I could barely form a coherent sentence in my head. It was like I was living through a film. All the same, that was my last thought before I was nothing but painkillers, and I suppose... it got me stuck here. Not that I mind now."

Alfred sat up and grabbed Arthur's arm, pulling him up onto the couch with him, before holding him close. He sighed into his slender shoulder and just kept him there. Arthur, unfazed, but comforted, kept speaking.

"Then, one day, I saw you walk past the cemetery. There you were. You just happened to find you way to London. Just like that. I used the excuse of the umbrella to see if it was really you, and when I saw you eyes, I knew it was. Mind you, I really did need cover from the rain."

Arthur leaned into him, shutting his eyes.

"After that, after I met you, and I did not disappear, I thought, what's it going to take? What am I supposed to do with this boy to warrant death? Yes, here he is, I've met him. May I please leave? But no. No, soon, my mind was plagued with thoughts about my last moments. Then, that last thought became overwhelming. I began to fall in love with you, and it seems that you love me too."

"I do." Alfred mumbled childishly.

"I'm well aware." Arthur chided. "What I've been getting to is... I don't know why I'm still here. I've met you. I've fallen in love with you. You love me. I even managed to take your virginity. I just don't know what more I can do, and in the end, I really, really don't want to die. Because that means leaving."

Alfred sniffled.

"And I think that's why. I think I was supposed to reject death when it finally came, unlike how I originally died, and I think... No, I know that it's cruel. I know it's some sort of terrible life lesson meant to make me an optimist. And it worked, damnit, but now that it's gotten what it wants, it's just going to rip what I want away from me. It doesn't care about me, or you, or anything but itself. It's vain, and it wanted me to see that it can be beautiful. Now that it has, I... I don't think I can stay here any longer." Arthur finished with a pent up sigh.

There was no telling what the morning would bring, but they awaited the night with baited breath, hoping the rain would stay until the sun sunk into the ground.

* * *

Night found them huddled under Alfred's thick duvet, thanking the rain for staying, and cursing the day for coming. After Arthur's explanation, Alfred had cried a bit more, and had been comforted to the best of the Brit's abilities. Still, it was all he could do not to cry himself, and with moonbeams pouring in through the window, he found himself unable to stop the tears. He didn't cry, though, just quietly let them fall. Alfred had tried kissing away his fears, encouraging him with what-ifs and maybes, but Arthur knew it was all for naught. He was simply happy he could spend his last moments like this, coiled in the covers, warm, and with the kindest, most wonderful person he had ever met.

* * *

That night, the rain had stopped. The silence of its absence was the loudest scream to Arthur's ears, and a deafening white noise to Alfred's. Neither of them could sleep, or speak. It was simply quiet.

Arthur's tears had stopped after a fashion. Now, he was just numb. It was like his death. After you got used to the sensation, you could not feel a single thing but your thoughts. He could not feel, could not hear Alfred's heart racing against his ear. He couldn't feel his own stopping.

Orange sunlight filtered above the earth. It was visible from the window, and on any other day, it would have been breathtaking, blessed, beautiful. But on this day it was tragic. It was cursed, it was the most diabolical thing Alfred had ever laid eyes on.

He was scared, he was so afraid, and he was not oblivious. He knew Arthur was dying. Again. It must have been a terrible sensation. Arthur had described it as numb, but Alfred pictured the awful, helpless numb one felt when they were tied down.

Alfred couldn't find his voice. He desperately wanted to yell out something to the world, or to tell Arthur that he loved him, but that was all lost as his thoughts experienced a whirlwind. He found that he could only hold Arthur tightly as he felt his heartbeat slow, slow, slow. It was the worst feeling in the world.

Arthur did not move. He couldn't. He didn't want to. No, no, yes, he did. He didn't want to die. Was Alfred asleep? Did Alfred know what was happening? Of course he did. So why...? It was numb, but it hurt. It was the loss of good feelings, any feelings. It was the loss of life.

Finally, finally, Alfred moved. He breathed frantically in panic. He choked on his own words, but he didn't cry. No, there had been enough crying already.

"Arthur." he croaked finally, and felt his stomach turn because he did not get an answer. Arthur felt Alfred's hold on him tighten, simply because it was strong, and it broke through the thin film, the blinding haze now covering his existence. He felt them roll over. He felt countless little kisses litter his face, he felt loved. He felt himself blink. He felt himself say something. Through monochromatic eyes, he saw Alfred say something back, but he could no longer hear.

Alfred said it, again and again. I love you. Arthur no longer reacted, though, after he had said it himself.

It faintly occurred to him that he was not slowly dying. He had been, all along. Now was just the final moment.

The final ribbons of happy sun settled into the room. It gave hint to a new, shining day in the city. It gave hint to smiling, happy, living people. It was happy.

Alfred shook as he held Arthur close, closer. His eyes burned, because he had not shut them for fear of what would happen. He no longer felt the beat of Arthur's heart, and his eyes were cold, soulless. They no longer glowed like they should. Just at the loss of that, he wanted to weep. He'd never see those fascinating eyes again. He would never get to hug him like this again. They would never again kiss, and they would never again make love. He would never hear his voice again.

Alfred trembled and he felt tears threatened to spill. He blinked them back, and realized what he had done. Just like that, he was gone.

Alfred was cold, and the bed was empty. As was his life, once again, and with baited breath, he awaited the next rain.

* * *

**SWEET LORD THAT TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE.**

**Take from this fic what you will.**

**Sequel? Yes, no? Thoughts? Because it's do-able, though it may be short. Then again, this was originally supposed to be like 8,000 words. Herf. Anyway, I just feel like it deserves a happier ending, and I could do that with a sequel.**

**Hope you enjoyed.**

**I'm crying.**

**I hope you are too.**

**In a good way. I don't enjoy your sadness.**

**I enjoy knowing I did a good job. Which along the line, became doubtful. But I hope I pulled through.**

**Damn do I love Coldplay.**

**Good day.**


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